


You're The Best Around

by dxp



Category: Professional Wrestling, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Kayfabe Compliant, Lack of Communication, M/M, Switching, Unsafe Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-07-13 19:28:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16024445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dxp/pseuds/dxp
Summary: Kota is trying to have an important conversation. He’s trying to find out what this important conversation is about.“Kenny,” says Kota. “Tell me how you think your story ends.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Detailed attempt at warnings in the end notes. I think this should be fine (see tags) but please check if you'd like.

Kota cups the back of Kenny’s head and pulls him forward to press their mouths together. Kenny takes a sharp, shaky breath just before their lips meet.

The kiss is effortless. Kenny’s hair under his hands, Kenny lips, quirked to fit with his, the tips of Kenny’s fingers familiar on his neck, gentle, before he pulls them away. He’s heavy in Kota’s arms.

Kota walks them backwards and directs him firmly into a chair. 

Kenny immediately puts his hands over his eyes. 

Kota is forced, in the pseudo-privacy to consider what might come next. A kiss in an draughty corridor with a tattered old love. The music swells, the credits roll, and then what? The action is past, he doesn't need or want time to examine it.

He hovers uselessly while the few parts of Kenny’s face that he can see scrunch up as though he’s trying not to cry. 

Blood is still pounding in Kota’s ears. If Kenny cries, Kota will start to cry again too, even though he’s not certain exactly what part of this whole mess they would be crying for.

He wipes his sweaty palms on his shorts. 

This corner of the venue feels empty but the show is over. If someone rounds the corner and finds them sobbing over each other, would that be embarrassing? Kota isn’t sure. He is pretty sure he, at least, has already cried on camera tonight. 

Kota reaches impulsively for Kenny's wrists, he wants to see Kenny's face. Kenny picks the same moment to peek out from behind his fingers. Kota’s caught with his hands outstretched.

He becomes acutely aware that he is standing with his shins pressed to the inside of Kenny’s thighs, looming over him as he sits. He could step back. The blue of Kenny’s eyes never looked quite the same on a screen.

“Thank you,” says Kenny, eventually. He’s so polite. It’s all very formal except for the fact that Kota is still standing between his legs. Except for the fact that they’ve already kissed.

Kota bobs his head a little, awkward, twitches his fingers back out towards him compulsively.

Kenny reaches out and gathers up both his hands, holds them loosely and carefully between them.

“Thank you. Thank you, Ibushi-san, so much,” as though the first time wasn’t enough.

He’s radiating sincerity in a way which feels a little like looking directly into a deep wound. Kota bows slightly, helplessly, over their clasped hands and after a long moment, gently disentangles them. He reaches out to ghost a thumb over the stubble on Kenny’s jaw instead. He doesn’t want affected distance tonight. 

Kenny leans fluidly into the pressure and then, closing his eyes, he tilts forwards in slightly robotic stages. Kota has plenty of time to confirm to himself that he isn’t going to move, before, finally, Kenny presses his forehead into Kota’s stomach. Kota shudders at the weight of him and folds his hands into Kenny’s wet hair. 

Kenny kisses Kota’s stomach, closed mouthed and chaste. It’s as familiar as the first kiss. 

Tentative hands brush the edge of his t-shirt and pause. Kota’s not looking down at him anymore. He can’t look at him. His skipping breath and tightening fingers must be enough. Kenny slowly drags the hem of the t-shirt up.

There is the whisper of exhaled air against Kota’s bare skin before Kenny kisses him again. Kenny’s hands are spread under his ribs and then the air against his stomach is hot and deliberate and from Kenny’s mouth. 

“Ibushi?” he says.

Kota uses his hands in Kenny’s hair to pull him in and down. 

He remembers saying, “Kenny,” in the the ring.

Kenny’s hands are quick with the drawstring of his shorts, quick tugging them down his thighs. Kota can feel the damp heat of his accelerating breath and his own chest is heaving in time. He’s heavy and hardening from a couple of soft kisses.

“Condom?” says Kenny.

Kota looks uselessly around at the empty corridor. 

“No,” he’s says, “I don’t-“

Kenny scrubs his nose into the cropped hair besides Kota’s cock in a gesture so brazenly intimate and achingly familiar after all these years that Kota feels time sliding liquid around them. When he yanks Kenny back by the hair. Kenny looks just as shocked, his mouth forming around some kind of dreadful apology. 

Kota drags him back in to silence him. 

Kenny’s hands clutch at his thighs for balance and his cheekbone collides solidly with Kota’s hip. Kota staggers forward a step against Kenny’s weight, knocking him back in his seat. Kenny goes easily, licking at him. The angles are wrong. 

Kota almost falls, shaking the constricting shorts from his legs. He can’t make himself take more than one hand from Kenny. Kenny holds onto his hips, jerking him back into place when he trips. Kenny is sliding down in the chair for better reach, but that will mean he has no leverage.

Kota kicks at the neighbouring chair. It seems pretty solidly wedged into place. He puts one knee on the plastic seat and Kenny understands him. He scrambles sideways and makes room for Kota’s other knee on the chair he’s sitting in. He grabs at Kota’s thigh and drags him back in again when Kota miscalculates and almost slides to the floor. With the sting of the sharp metal chair frame echoing up his leg, even through his kneepad, he finally gets Kenny’s mouth around him.

Most of all he can feel the soft, cool breath from Kenny’s nose. Everything else is scalding. It's an old rhythm. He comes, quick and sharp with Kenny’s fingers working tight around his cock and his soft wet lips close around the head. 

Time is liquid again. Is it the same?

Kota’s muscles unlock gradually. He slides down into Kenny’s lap as Kenny loosens his fist and absorbs the last few glorious, shivery rolls of Kota’s hips. Kota’s forehead stings where he was pressing it into the corridor wall. It’s just the same. They could still be the same. 

Sitting in Kenny’s lap, he can’t stretch his legs out, but he can’t bring himself to move away either. He still has his hands in Kenny’s hair. Kenny arches his neck up to push his forehead briefly to Kota’s. 

“No condom,” says Kota, stupidly.

Kenny opens up his mouth and twists his face around a bit to show Kota his clear pink tongue and white teeth. It’s as though he thinks Kota wants to check he swallowed. Like he’s an unbelievably cooperative cat with a prescription. 

Kota crushes Kenny’s face into his shoulder. 

“We’re stupid.” Kota says. 

‘We’ve always been stupid,” says Kenny. Kota can hear his smile. 

Kenny’s knuckles sit lightly on Kota’s thighs. 

“Will we be a team again?” Kenny asks. 

It would be safest to say no. It would be the sensible thing. Kota says, “Yes.”

 

***

 


	2. Chapter 2

Being with Kota again entails living in this strange, prolonged moment of happiness.

It’s like the music cut in when Kota threw his arms around him in the ring, hit a dramatic crescendo when Kota said, “yes,” and then he clipped that moment for Vine. That sustained note has been looping in the background of everything else for a month.

Walking out into Kōrakuen together manifests that note in the voices of the crowd. They are the Golden Lovers again and against all odds the crowd still knows it. The crowd reciprocates his love.

Kota kept nearly all their shared friends in the break up because he was around first, around more and because Kenny left and refused to talk to anyone. It’s been easy enough to fall casually back in with dearly familiar Gota.

Slightly more complicated are all the other new and old faces who swing by Kota’s new training emporium. What information, if any, do they have about who Kenny is to Kota currently? What kind of public presentation is required in this context?

Kota brought a camera crew to their first training session and Kenny had talked and talked.

He hasn’t worked out how to ask Kota about any of without it devolving into an, _are you my boyfriend?_ talk, which feels juvenile and completely inadequate but simultaneously wildly premature and presumptuous. He can’t begin to fathom how Kota might respond. Kota already agreed to be a tag team again. They're still calling themselves the Golden Lovers. 

Kenny’s not been working out at Kota's gym too often even though Kota keeps inviting him. 

More complicated still are all Kenny’s new old friends, who are uncooperatively engaging in exactly the kind of bullshit drama he usually enjoys cultivating. Being on the wrong side of it is infuriating.

_“I’m done with all the drama now.”_ Kenny tells Chase before the show, benevolent with Kota beside him. _“I’m happy and they’re pissing me off. Why can’t Cody give it a rest?”_

_“It’s been like, five minutes,”_ says Chase unhelpfully.

Kota quirks an eyebrow at him. It's the first time anything has caught his attention enough to prompt him to ask for a translation in a while.

“I’m asking for insights into everyone’s dramatic meltdown,” says Kenny.

Kota shrugs, “You’re the one who switched sides.”

While this is accurate in some respects - Kota was fighting Cody before Christmas when Cody was nebulously Kenny’s ally and he is still fighting Cody now Cody is apparently Kenny’s enemy - Kenny feels that this misses out the crucial part where he’s been consistently against anyone but him fighting Kota the whole time. It also underplays the part where Cody tried to break his neck to become leader of Bullet Club and glosses over the complexities of Kenny tagging with the Fale wing of Bullet Club all over Australia for a weird week. Australian fans in Bullet Club shirts had given him gifts to bring back to Kota.

Kota is lacing up his boots. Kenny sits down besides him on the dirty floor of the corridor so he can do the same. 

He likes the simplicity of Kota’s assessment. Kenny swapped sides. Simple. He _almost_ wishes that it were true. He wonders if Kota thinks it’s true.

If Kota really thought Kenny had changed sides it seems unlikely that they would be changing into their gear out here in a corridor in an echo of some of his worst, early days at Ring of Honor. Apparently Kota isn’t willing to risk bringing him into Taguchi’s Bullet Club crushing embrace, or by extension, to Tanahashi’s sculpted bosom. Tanahashi isn’t in the building, but his aura of judgement and hairspray is certainly alive in his absence. 

“I’m on your side,” he tries out. That’s honest and as true as he knows how to be. He can back that statement up. He’s going to make sure Kota never has anything but complete confidence in that statement again. 

He brought along his Kota Ibushi shirt, he’s going to wear it, and that’s only the beginning. 

_"You two are so cute,"_ says Chase gleefully, as they are waiting to go out to the ring. 

Kota looks down at their matching shirts, vaguely alarmed. He doesn't need a translation.

Then their music starts and they go out to meet the crowd. The crowd blows everything else away. That's something they've never disagreed about.

After the match they slump exhaustedly next each other in the same corridor.

They’ve agreed it will go better tomorrow, but losing with Kota doesn’t hurt so much.

He breathes through the last remnants of the scalding hurt he’d felt when actually confronted with Cody’s traitorous, gloating face. Chase crouches opposite them.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have gone to Australia,” says Kota. 

“Or maybe we should have practiced more and fucked less,” says Kenny.

Kota flicks his eyes towards Chase who is rifling through his suitcase. 

Kenny rattles off as much filth as he can dredge up the vocabulary to cover, still a little shocky with adrenaline. Kota had needed to drag him away from Cody after the match. 

“See, he's worse than I used to be. He can’t understand anything, particularly if you say it fast.”

_“One of you is buying me food after we’re dressed,”_ says Chase. He’s already pushing himself up the wall, clutching his wash bag. 

Kota ignores Kenny and graces Chase with a smile, “Tell him he did well.” 

“Even though we lost? You’re getting soft in your old age.” 

“I like him,” Kota says and he starts to yank off his kick-pads. “You did well too.” He says it quietly and even in the empty corridor Kenny has to quickly dip his head to hear him. Kenny feels the flush, sharp and sudden in his face. It means more, hearing it here where no one else is listening. 

Kenny turns to look at him, but Kota’s already looking away. He shouldn’t be this full of bubbling heat from a little praise, like he’s still young and stupid and eager.

“You could tell Chase yourself,” Kenny says, but Kota shakes his head. 

 

* * *

 

The next night someone has allocated the two of them their own dressing room. Kenny doesn’t know if some ROH guys got bumped elsewhere when it became apparent they weren’t going to share with the usual suspects. It’s got big mirrors and closet space they don't need. They are, as Kota points out, the main event. Also the suitcases in the corridor were a fire hazard. Goto had gone out of his way to inform Kenny that the suitcases in the corridor were a fire hazard. 

Kota pulls on a Kota Ibushi t-shirt, and watches Kenny put on his. He nods approvingly. He was so surprised when he first saw it. This seems like progress. 

After the match they drag each other in and out of the empty showers and, refreshed like they’re 28 and a bit of hot water can cure all their ills, they hop giddily into street clothes. It really is like the old days. Perhaps he really can make it all just like it was.

Then Kenny has to sit patiently while Kota blow dries his hair. He tries to control his jittering leg while Kota blasts hot dry air into the room. 

He feels like he should be more emotional. Matt is clearly extremely upset. The life he's built over the last four years has fallen apart. 

What he actually feels is the thrumming rush of victory, a familiar note that’s reverberating between the two of them. It’s drowning out the returning ache in his knees and in his neck and it allows him to easily push the memory of Matt’s angry face aside.

They’ve got the illusion of privacy. A rickety, paper thin door. But Kenny wants to be gone. Kota hustled him out into the ring but Kenny hustles him back out onto the street. 

In the back of the cab, Kota flicks his eyes towards Kenny’s bouncing leg. Despite his aches, Kenny could fight again. 

He’s is very aware of the presence of the cab driver. Tonight at Kōrakuen, they were the Golden Lovers. Here, he’s an overly large, foreign man with wet hair traveling to a residential area with two suitcases in the boot and Kota’s expensively dressed presence.

He leans forward in his seat and Kota’s eyes go wide and vaguely alarmed in his direction. Kenny flaps a hand at him. 

“Excuse me? May we please have the radio on?”

Filling the car with music doesn’t actually dispel the vibrating energy. If anything it amplifies the hum, but at least he can bounce his leg in time with the music rather than to the beat of his own manic energy. 

Kota’s spread out next to him like he’s melting into the seats of the cab. 

“Do you feel it?” asks Kenny.

Kota rolls his head languorously around on his neck to look at him and grins.

His eyes are still bright when Kenny hooks his thighs to hitch him up against the wall in the hallway of his apartment. Kota bounces up cooperatively. 

He’s a warm, dead weight in Kenny’s arms. Now that he’s up, Kota isn’t doing anything to help. 

“Heavy,” Kenny pronounces, to see Kota’s mouth split into a smile. 

Kota kicks his dangling feet against the wall a little as he digs into the trapped pocket of his jeans. Kenny’s forearms are burning already and he shoves in with his hips, trying to keep Kota up. 

Kota pulls out a condom with a flourish. Kenny drops him. He just lands like a cat; smug and unconcerned. 

“I keep telling you not to keep those in your pockets,” says Kenny.

Kota nods and shoves at him. 

Kenny lets himself slip a little and falls as dramatically as possible into the opposite wall.

Kota hoists him up by the t-shirt and then keeps tugging until Kenny lets him pull it off. It catches awkwardly on his chin and Kota laughs at him.

“I’ll rip yours,” says Kenny. It’s one of the tops Kota insists need to be professionally cleaned. Kenny isn't sure he believes him. One of these days he's going to check the label. Kota pushes him firmly into the wall for a second before he steps back and quickly shucks out of the t-shirt. He drops it delicately on top of Kenny’s. 

Kenny lets himself look, in the privacy of his hallway, at the long elegant lines of Kota’s waist and at the swooping arch of his shoulders. Like this, it’s obvious how much broader Kota is now. When they are alone it often feels like the years they weren’t together were a strange blip. 

But Kenny feels so many of the little changes between them like a rope breaking behind him. He’s left falling without a plan, smiling to reassure Kota that he hasn’t noticed the ring collapsing around them. 

Sometimes the differences are wonderful. 

Kota flexes his pecs a little. He’s grinning at Kenny’s regard. 

“Beautiful,” says Kenny, because its true and because, “good work” would also be true but un-romantic. He now knows intimately how much effort Kota is putting into looking like that. Kota and Gota, casting themselves as the tyrants of Kota’s gym, have made him run a few of Kota’s more extreme new routines. Working out, cramming in calories, it's all a job part of Kenny's job and it's satisfying, but he doesn't know anyone who works at it like Kota does.

Kota pinks up at the compliment, so sweet, like Kenny didn’t see him try to maim Marty tonight, and cranes his neck out to place a delicate kiss on Kenny’s lips. 

He puts light fingers on Kenny’s hips and gently urges him up and around to face the wall. 

Kenny’s next breath is louder and shakier than he meant it to be. 

He reaches an arm behind himself to catch at Kota’s jeans and pull his solid weight onto his back.

Kota puts his arms tight around Kenny’s waist and rests his head on Kenny’s shoulder. He grinds his hips up and Kenny braces his forearm against the wall. 

Kenny moves back against him. He lets himself slip a little internally. Closes his eyes and feels Kota’s hands on his chest and his neck and his warm body against his. 

Kota’s breath comes faster and heavier in his hair.

“Wait,” says Kenny, and Kota’s hands stop. His hips twitch before he pauses. “Did you put that condom straight back in your pocket?”

Kenny can feel Kota’s hand retrieving it against his ass. He wants to move. He wants to bounce on his feet. He wants to get fucked. Kota has kept one hand tight on his hip. He wants it tighter. 

Kota flicks the condom into view and holds it close in front of Kenny’s eyes. Kenny does his best Kota impression and goes a little crosseyed. 

He grabs it from Kota’s hands. “ _Yes, fuck it._ Let’s go.”

He can feel Kota fumbling with his jeans as he rips the plastic open. It’s somewhat lubricated so he’s justified in staying out here in the corridor. They don’t have to head into the apartment where he’s lived on and off as a somewhat responsible adult for years. He hands the open packet back. 

He licks wetly at his fingers and sticks them into his sweats, just before Kota drags them down. Kota bends to drop kisses over his shoulder blades. Kenny listens to the rustle of plastic. Kicks the packet away when he catches it hitting the tiles from the corner of his eye. 

“I’ll be slow," says Kota, "I’ll be so careful.”

Kenny feels blindly along Kota’s pelvis and finds the base of his cock. He runs his fingers over the condom, feels Kota’s fingers tighten gloriously back on his hips, and presses more moisture into the skin in the cleft of his ass. They just showered. This is so fucking stupid. His heart is large and loud in his chest.

“Just be quick,” he says. He’s a stupid kid again. Or twenty-something and still careless in his need to impress Kota Ibushi. This isn’t going to impress anyone. This is going to settle his racing blood. 

Kenny can feel the slippery, tepid heat of the condom against him now. He can feel Kota’s fist around Kota’s cock and against Kenny’s ass. Kota sets, breathes wetly against his spine, and pushes. 

Kenny sucks in air. He pinches his eyes shut and presses them into his arm so hard he sees colours. It’s not comfortable. It’s burning pressure with a sting. The sting could be worrying if his brain wasn’t melting down his spinal column. 

Kota’s hands are still tight against him. He can feel Kota scrubbing his cheek against his shoulders, the peppering of stubble under his chin. He puts a hand to his cock and pushes back. It’s a feeling he can master. Kota slides right through the pointless resistance of his body until he meets a new stopping point, until Kenny momentarily loses control. Then he grinds straight through that as well. There is give because they want there to be. It’s something that will feel good because they want it to feel good. 

One of the very few upsides to fucking wrestlers has always been the combination of strength and a casual familiarity with how to inflict a tolerable level of damage. Excepting Kota, this has never outweighed the downsides.

Kota sets up a slow grind against him, so close the mantled muscle of his hips is never out of contact. His hand finds Kenny’s where it’s tight around his cock and he groans into Kenny’s hair.

Kenny can feel his thighs flex against his ass. He puts a hand back to feel the sleek roll of muscle. 

Kota spreads himself over Kenny’s back, the hard planes of his body press as much contact between them as possible without toppling them to the floor. Kenny has to concentrate on locking his legs. Tightening around Kota in a sharp ache. 

“Have I hurt you?” pants Kota into his ear. 

“No,” says Kenny to the hot air between his face and the rough plaster. It’s true in a way. It’s a petty discomfort that has set all the nerves in his body singing. 

Kota rolls his hips again in a short vicious grind. They really do nearly go over this time. Kenny’s legs buckle a little and Kota’s too close to balance them. They catch themselves against the wall. 

“It’s true,” Kenny insists.

Kota tugs him back sharply so his arm drags a few inches down the wall. That’s good. If Kota will go back to moving Kenny’s body will co-operate.

“Should I stop then?” says Kota.

“Don’t joke” says Kenny and he reaches back to punch Kota in the thigh, hard. Kota grunts and laughs and gasps when his hips shudder forwards again. It aches perfectly. 

Kota plants a hand on the wall to fuck him. He grinds in quick and hard and rhythmic. Kenny presses his eyes back into his forearm and rides the wave of burning heat. He lets Kota’s strength drive him forward into his own fist. He lets his mind go again, stripped back to only the essentials. Kota’s steady presence, his rhythm and the pressure of him deep inside his body are all that tether him. He can feel the heat of Kota’s increasingly wet, panting breaths on his shoulder. Kota keeps them close. Moves in short, heavy thrusts. They are nothing but want. 

“It doesn’t hurt,” Kenny tells him. Kota yanks viciously at his hair. Kenny comes, silent and airless into his palm.

Kota’s next few thrusts are harder still, carelessly arrhythmic, chasing pleasure. 

He says, “Kenny, Kenny,” into Kenny’s neck where Kenny can feel it. Familiar. Perfect. Nothing in the world could hurt him now. 

In the end, Kenny has just enough of a grasp on the present to throw his other arm up on the wall to catch their collective weight.

They breathe together, still warm in the cooling air. Right now Kota is unselfconscious in his affection, his fingers absently brushing over the hair above his cock. He bumps his lips and nose against Kenny's back. He wants all of Kota's weight, always.

Kenny pulls his eyes away from his forearm, blinks them open in the artificial light. The disappearing pressure strobes his vision.

Kota pats his hip. The rest of his body comes back to him slowly.

Kota pulling away from him doesn’t hurt either. But it is strange and why Kenny didn’t do this often for years. His body tells him to retreat straight into the bathroom, but his thighs are on fire, locked in place. His knees hurt again. 

Kota collapses onto the tiled floor and pulls Kenny down after him. His eyes are closed and his face is clear. His hair is sticking up everywhere. Kenny kisses him all over his serene expression. Kota cracks open his eyes and his lips curl up. 

Kenny makes himself pull away and delicately picks his t-shirt out from underneath Kota’s. He makes a cursory, preliminary pass at cleaning himself up. He tries to pass the t-shirt to Kota who is looking with some dismay at the mess in his own hand. Kenny refuses to look for more than a millisecond. Probably the condom didn’t entirely make it. They are both wilfully stupid. 

Kenny shakes the t-shirt at him until he takes it and cleans himself up while Kenny tugs his sweats up his hips and stretches the fire from his legs. 

Kota pulls his jeans up but doesn’t bother to button them. He puts his arms behind his head. Kenny closes his own eyes and enjoys the flood of hormones and the cool tiles on his back. Now the lactic acid is leaving his thighs and he can feel a beautiful new laxness in his muscles. 

Kota’s breathing is quiet besides him. The cat is breaking cat biscuits between her teeth in the kitchen. This was yet another excellent, stupid idea. 

They desperately need to eat. Kota can't afford to drop weight. They need to sleep. He hopes Kota wants to stay. 

“I already defeated Cody at the Dome,” says Kota.

Kenny hums in acknowledgement. That’s true. 

“So you’ll fight him next?”

It’s inevitable. He can feel, like some ancient pirate, the promise of future pain in his joints. He tries to stretch the phantom ache away. He felt so good a second ago.

“Probably,” says Kenny. Kota huffs air out through his nose. Kenny props himself up on an elbow to look at him. 

“I’m going for the Cup,” says Kota, “Any chance I see you in the tournament finals this time?”

Kenny scrutinises his expression. Tries to read underneath the fading pink flush of sex. He’d not been thinking about that failed promise. It’s too soon. It’s a problem for when the G1 comes around again. Last time they were together, he wouldn’t have been eligible for any New Japan heavyweight tournaments. 

“No, not with everything that’s wrong with the Bullet Club,” he says. It isn’t untrue.

Kota’s eyebrows twitch. He eyes flicker a little over Kenny’s face. 

“Besides, I’m with you now,” Kenny tries. Kota’s mouth has thinned out. 

“So you're what? A tag team guy now? You win one g1 and you’re giving up?”

Kenny recoils a little. 

“Look,” he says, “I just lost the stupid American belt and my knee is still fucked. Okada isn’t entering either.”

“Okada is the Champion.” says Kota, “What happened to the God of Professional Wrestling?”

Kenny winces, knows his face is suddenly flush with a different kind of heat, “Ibushi, please, I’m trying to behave.”

“Who asked you to do that?” says Kota. Kota rolls himself to his feet and puts his hands on his hips like he’s a cartoon character who is _oh so disappointed_. Kenny stis up, annoyed and grasping for something to argue with. Kota is looking straight past him.

Kota says, “Excuse me.” 

Then he walks into Kenny’s bedroom and shuts the door. Kenny clicks his stupidly gaping mouth shut in the empty corridor.

He pulls himself up off the floor, wincing a little. There’s no one to pretend for so he lets himself limp a little on the way to the bathroom, the bin and the washing machine. He’s got appointments with physiotherapists on two continents in the next month. They can’t come soon enough.

In the kitchen he liberates a stack of pre-prepared meals from the fridge and turns the oven on. Low blood sugar. Responsible adults would eat before fucking. 

Kota slams out of the bedroom and into the bathroom. The tap runs and Kenny waits anxiously for Kota to reappear. Instead Kota returns to Kenny’s bedroom. He shuts the door more carefully this time. At least he hasn’t left. 

It seems rude to get started with his Street Fighter practice while Kota is angry and still in the apartment so he sits at the table and stares at his phone. Kenny could go online and absorb the adoration and disdain of strangers. He’s already got a helping of both from Kota this evening. 

By the time Kota emerges the meals are heated and cooling on the table and Kenny is miles down his timeline, trying to catch up on FGC stuff.

Kota collapses into a chair opposite him and surveys the array of food on the table with appreciatively raised eyebrows.

There’s probably enough to feed a couple of picky families.

They pull the mismatched meals apart, extracting salmon fillets, tuna steaks and thick pre-sliced portions of meat and dumping them onto plates. Kota rejects the salmon after a few bites and scrapes it all onto Kenny’s plate, where it sits sadly on top of a pile of over cooked cabbage. Kenny reluctantly gives him the tuna in exchange. 

It’s an expensive, wasteful way to eat mediocre food but it is also easy. Only Kota is witness and that used to mean that it didn’t matter. It still means that it doesn’t matter.

When they’re finished with the good bits and only piles of rice and soggy vegetables remain, Kenny says, “Did you piss on anything in my room?”

Kota breathes a quick little laugh and says, “Yes.”

“Well, if you’re staying tonight, it’s as much your problem as mine.” Kenny sticks his hands under the table.

Kota glances up at him and nods slowly, his brown eyes are steady. Kenny feels his soft, sock covered foot press light and warm against his ankle. 

“Bu-san, If you’re going to be in the tournament, will you take Chase with you? I’ll ask him for you.”

Kota frowns at him.

“You said he did well. He could learn from you.” 

“Fine,” Kota says, softening a little. “But I could ask someone myself. Or the office could allocate me someone.”

“I know,” says Kenny. 

“Will you come by and practice more before you visit your parents?”

His knee twinges. Kenny digs his fingers into it underneath the table. Kenny wants to. Kenny says, “Yes.”

 

***

 


	3. Chapter 3

Kota drags himself along a hotel corridor that smells strongly of detergent. He phoned Kenny and hit voicemail so he’s going to find his own damn hotel room. 

His head weighs about as much as his suitcase and he’s sick of dragging both around. 

His phone vibrates in his pocket. He lets it ring for a while, staring the generic grey avatar next to Kenny’s name. He never changed his number.

“Hello?” Kenny says, “are you here?”

In relaying his room number to Kenny, Kota discovers that he’s on the wrong floor. This does explain why none of the others from his flight got out of the lift with him. He’s glad to have enough leverage that he gets his own room from the company but it was easier when someone else would navigate the featureless hotel corridors for him.

He manages to get himself and his suitcase up to the correct but identically detergent scented corridor before Kenny arrives, so he decides to keep that little detour to himself. 

His keycard is being uncooperative. He checks the number twice more to ensure that he’s correct.

Kenny bounces through the heavy fire doors from the stairs. His arrival would be quiet in the carpeted corridor except that it’s completely deserted. As he pads towards Kota, his whole face is lit up with affection. He’s a smile framed by a person and it’s just for Kota. Kota can’t help but clasp his hands and reel him in as soon as he’s within grabbing distance. 

He pushes a kiss to Kenny’s lips, quick, light and just off-centre. 

Kenny pulls back, eyes a little wide, to glance up and down the corridor.

“It’s so good to see you,” he says and he leans in to return the kiss, just as glancing as the one Kota gave him.

Then he pulls Kota pulls in and Kota presses his chin into Kenny’s shoulder. Kenny mirrors him and he feels Kenny’s chest deflate against his and his body relax into him. 

Should he bring up the Young Bucks? They’re here to fight them. It seems like it might be emotionally significant for Kenny. 

Kota tucks a hand into the front of Kenny’s shorts. 

Kenny wiggles his hips so that Kota’s hand slips a little further. “Did you fuck anyone else? Any good stories?”

“No,” says Kota. “No time.”

“Well, at your advanced age,” Kenny trails off and waits for Kota to fight back. 

Kota can’t be bothered with the joke today. It feels true. He is advanced in age.

“How about you?” he asks.

“No,” says Kenny. “I’ve been resting. Physhio’s orders.”

“They said no fucking?” Kota asks. He snaps his head up to look at Kenny in time to see his face crease up in delight. Kenny is laughing at him. Kota puts his face back into Kenny’s shoulder briefly. He needs to try the door again.

Now Kenny is here, of course his keycard works.

“Oh, actually, did you see it online? Brandi kissed me.”

“Gross,” says Kota. He pulls a face so that Kenny can see how sincerely he means that.

Kenny gifts him with another flash of white teeth. “You’re so handsome,” he says. “Keep that expression forever.”

Unfortunately holding it makes Kota’s eyes hurt in his aching head, so he pulls Kenny and his suitcase into the room. He drops his head to Kenny’s warm shoulder again, scrubs his forehead across the soft cotton pulled taut over the muscle in Kenny’s neck. 

“Do you want to fuck now?” Kenny asks, straightforward and warm. Kota wants him. Kota also desperately wants to sleep.

“My head hurts,” he says. “Airplane air conditioning.”

Kenny tries to step away from him and Kota locks his hands tightly on his waist. 

“Water”, says Kenny. “Best cure for a headache. I’ll just grab you some.”

“Blow job,” says Kota, lightly. “Best cure for a headache.” 

Kenny hesitates and Kota lets go of his waist, retreats a little. He feels the years sliding around them again, elongating this time. It’s been years. It’s been two months. Why can’t he remember that? 

Kenny smiles at him carefully, reaches for him and says, “Water then a blow job.”

Kota can’t turn that down even if he should. 

While he’s chasing the orgasm he feels like his eye sockets are going to cave in, but when he comes it’s waves of cool relief that are so much better than the off the shelf painkillers Kenny fished out of Kota’s wash bag first. 

When he wakes up Kenny is sat on the bed with his headphones in, poking at his Switch with furious concentration. 

He’s very quiet. It looks like he's barely breathing.

Kota twists a little to look at the screen. It’s not a game he’s played, but it is familiar. 

“Tanahashi plays that one,” he says.

Kenny grimaces and hits pause. Kota lets himself smile into his hand. 

Kenny passes him an open bottle of water.

Kota sits up and tries it. It’s been refilled with hotel tap water. Disgusting. He hands it back to Kenny who drinks half of it and hands it straight back.

Kota puts it firmly on the bedside table and stumbles away to the bathroom.

When he returns Kenny is stretching out his long legs against the hotel desk. 

“Do you want me to go?”

Kota considers this and shakes his head. His head is lighter. He doesn’t want to give up Kenny’s presence so soon. Kenny’s mouth quirks, quietly pleased. Kota’s still a little helpless in the face of it. 

“Do you want to go to the gym?”

Kota wants to be in his own gym, not some horrible American gym with screens. His gym is quiet when he wants it to be and he can control the flow of people. 

“Or we could run,” Kenny offers. He’s bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. He arrived in gym clothes. Kota lost his jeans during the blow job. He’s practically changed already.

Back out in the corridor, they run through the beginnings of a warm up while they wait for the elevator. Kota watches the shift of Kenny’s chest under his shirt as he stretches. He can feel Kenny’s eyes on him in turn. 

“I wanted to say in person. I’m sorry about the Cup. Zack came out of nowhere.”

“He didn’t come out of nowhere,” says Kota and he turns away briefly to jam his thumb into the elevator call button again.

Kenny’s looking at him with his lips pursed. He’s dropped the stretch to turn the full, devastating beam of his regard onto Kota. Kota doesn’t want to be examined. He can’t unravel the threads of discomfort in his chest. He doesn’t want Kenny pulling curiously at them. 

Kota says, “Did you ever decide if the tournament was beyond your abilities or just beneath your attention?” 

Kenny stutters back a step to lean on the corridor wall. His eyes are unusually sharp for a moment and an unexpected thrill burns through Kota. Then Kenny smiles again. 

“I feel like I just shot myself in the dick without knowing I was holding a gun.”

Kota can turn it all into a joke too. Kota extends his arm and points a finger at Kenny’s forehead and then his crotch. He cocks his wrist: “Bang.”

Kenny shouts, says, "Bu-san!" and slides heavily down the wall clutching at his shorts. He's making a lot of noise.

Kota says, “Shhh,” and crouches down next to him. When Kenny continues to groan he grabs at his face and presses a finger over his lips. 

“Kenny stop,” he’s says desperately. “People will come out.”

Kenny squints at him, “Maybe we should get you a drink?” he says, warm breath soft against the skin of Kota’s finger and his lips still pulled into a smile. He’s cupping his cock like he’s really injured. Kota sucks in his cheeks to hold in a sudden, bubbling laugh. The discomfort is still there in his chest but it’s soothed by fondness. It would take a lot of time to examine all those knots. He’s not sure if he’ll bother. 

Kenny flicks the wet, hot tip of his tongue out over Kota’s finger. Then he reaches out to tap Kota’s cheek lightly. “Ibushi, I’m behind you. You know that, right?”

The discomfort pulls tight again and Kota jerks to his feet. That should be what Kota wants to hear. He always liked to hear it, before.

Thankfully the elevator arrives. There’s an American looking woman in there when the doors slide open. Kota slides a glance at Kenny but mercifully he’s taken his hands away from his crotch. 

“Thank you,” says Kota, to Kenny and to the universe. It doesn’t feel good but it does feel true.

 

* * *

 

It should feel good to stamp on Matt Jackson’s back while they’re still in the ring. He does it in anticipation of some clarity of feeling. 

It should feel good when Kenny does what Kota is telling him to do and knees Matt Jackson in the face. Matt Jackson claims he loves Kenny but doesn’t really know who Kota is. Still, there’s no need for it to be so personal.

It’s just a match and it should feel better when they win. 

He gets to stand in the ring with Kenny at his side and bathe himself in the love of the crowd. There are people, kids, wearing Golden Lovers t-shirts. Kota isn't sure he would have dared to do the same when he was that young. The world changes quickly. 

With his arm around Kenny, in the centre of that ring, the lights are brighter. America is somewhat redeemed despite Cody's continued existence. Of course that might just be the concussion. 

Kenny delivers him to the trainers office to sit in the dark and leaves to save him from dealing with the press. His face is visibly swelling and in victory he just seems defeated. 

It was so much easier, if not terribly exciting, to beat Yoshi-Hashi in the New Japan Cup. Kota didn’t feel much about Yoshi-Hashi, there was no shouting in the ring and he got to make the crowd scream when he jumped from the balcony. Simple. 

Kenny's never managed to be interested in anything simple. 

Kenny comes back to him even sadder than when he left, presumably having talked himself into a deeper hole.

Kota has to blink at him through the pounding in his head and watch the bruise paint itself over his glum expression. Kenny gets off the plane back home looking like he had half his makeup done by Evil before they had a falling out. It suits his mood. 

Did Kota do it to him, or did Kenny do it to himself? They've hurt each other before, but the evidence is dark and glaring around Kenny's eye.

Gedo and Jado once smashed their heads together so hard they had to forfeit a match to him and Kenny. Accidents happen, but it hadn't even occurred to Kota to call for the match to stop until they were back home in his gym and Gota was fussing over him. He's going to turn thirty six this year.

 

* * *

 

Kenny spends a lot of time staring silently and almost performatively at his phone, even though he gets plenty of messages from all his video game people. If that many of Kota’s friends stopped talking to him, Kota would probably be similarly distraught. There would probably be more drinking and just as many late night video game binges.

They fight Cody and a minion again and they lose, even though Kenny has to scrub Cody’s blood off his boot. Even though they just defeated what Kenny keeps calling ‘The Best Tag Team in the World.’ 

Kota thinks he’s being benevolent in victory at first. But he really seems to mean it. It’s as unexpectedly sweet as it is frustrating. Kota and Kenny won that match, but apparently it doesn’t mean anything. 

Back in the quiet of his gym he watches Kenny arch though a series of stretches from his warm down routine. Why, exactly, is Kenny bothering? Kota assumed they'd both be going for titles as soon as possible.

They always said they wanted to be the best. Kota wants to be the best. Kenny still says he wants it; loudly, often and in public. He’s training like he wants it. This time, it’s not just Kota and Nak who believe in him. 

Kenny notices him watching through the slats of the staircase and wanders around, shaking out his arms. So far Kota hasn't had to do anything more than sniff to have Kenny's full attention. Kenny always comes to him. Kota reached for him first in the ring. It's soothing now to watch him turn, every time. 

Kenny drops exhaustedly to his knees and tugs Kota gently down from the stairs and into his lap. 

Kota knocks their sweaty foreheads together. 

Gota has already abandoned them for the night. Gota is Kenny’s friend again, already, but then Kota can hardly blame him for falling fast. Today he caught Gota rolling his eyes with Kenny behind Kota’s back, while Kota was pilling up crash mats outside of their ring. 

Chase is Kota’s friend now too even if the only language they are both fluent in is dog videos. He knows about, but hasn't been invited too, a Bullet Club group chat that Kenny doesn't know about. Kota wishes he still didn't know because telling Kenny will only hurt him pointlessly. He's going to do his best to forget as quickly as possible. 

“You look like you need more food," Kenny says, "come home with me and cuddle the cat.” 

Kota doesn’t like to be trapped but Kota’s the one with his fists bunched into Kenny’s top when they kiss.

They are trapped. They win, they lose; it all just leads to more Cody.

 

* * *

 

When Kota gets back to the hotel in New Orleans, he’s more than a little tipsy. He’s buoyed up by the heaving, happy crowds out in the streets. 

Kota resents that he had to travel all the way back here to America, but he gets to spend three days in front of crowds who are delirious to be in his presence. He gets the promise of seeing Nakamura again. He gets a fourth Golden Lovers tag match. 

People know who he is here, in the heart of this wrestling festival, and he knows who he is in their eyes. He’s Kota Ibushi who doesn’t really speak English. This is has some resemblance to the truth. Currently, that’s easier than being Ibushi Kota. 

Kenny made it so simple, yesterday. He asked for the microphone, just like the old days. They’re still a novelty so their matches have closed out every show they've been on.

They’re the Golden Lovers again. 

They’re in love. It’s true. It’s good. It’s a painful, embarrassing thing Kota can’t say in private, let alone in front of a crowd. 

They’d been fighting another of Kenny’s old tag team partners, an American who had injured his current tag team partner so badly in a singles match that the guy can’t physically wrestle. Kota watched Kenny manoeuvre his customary ice pack onto the back of his neck after they won. He can still vividly remember the feeling of Kenny’s body in his arms before and after he dumped him over his shoulder and onto his neck six years ago. Sometimes he can’t remember who he fought last week.

Tonight, with Kenny absent, he was part of a midcard tag, but the crowd didn’t hold back. He still had fun. He’s still vibrating with the crowds approval hours later, even through the dulling effects of alcohol and jet lag, but he knows that nothing from tonight is going to bruise itself into his long term memory. 

He bypasses the hotel bar. He's exhausted all his energy for people today.

Kenny messaged him to say he’s out with friends from all the gaming stuff he does. Kota didn’t need to be updated. They aren’t sharing a room. 

Tomorrow will mark the first time since Kota chased Cody away in January, that they’ve been on the same card and not fought side by side. It’s Kenny’s first singles match since he lost his belt and it’s the inevitable match where Kenny will finally, definitively beat Cody. Kota doesn't know what comes after that. He doesn't think Kenny knows either. 

Kota has a match with Cody’s henchman at a lower spot on the card. The henchman has been doing a lot of yelling that Kenny translates for him on demand. The translations don’t really help Kota understand exactly why this strange angry man thinks the match will be personal. 

Kota’s not nervous about his own match either. Even if the match lacks beauty, he’s quietly certain he’ll win. Still, thinking about tomorrow makes his chest tight. 

He just wanted the Golden Lovers to be the same as before. He was so happy and everything was easier.

Kota has watched Kenny’s matches in front of American crowds, tiny on his phone, and blown nearly as large as life on his TV. The heaving american crowds love Kenny. Kenny should be loved. But it’s at a different timbre to the love the crowds used to show him. It has nothing to do with Kota. 

Who does this foreign crowd love when they look at Kenny Omega now? Is Kenny changed in their eyes when Kota stands next to him or when Kenny tells them, in English, that Kota loves him. Do they believe him? 

Everyone has always been very good at not seeing the ways in which Kota is strange. Their eyes slide right over the pieces of him that don’t sit smoothly. He’s used it to his advantage.

Kota doesn’t want to be a piece of Kenny’s strangeness that peoples eyes skitter past. 

Kota stopped drinking far too early. This is a bad level of inebriation.

He doesn’t have Kenny’s keycard but he’s outside Kenny’s hotel room.

He could find his own room.

Instead, he messages Kenny. 

Kenny finds him sitting on the floor of the corridor with his headphones in.

“What are you listening to?” Kenny asks, digging in his pockets for his key. 

It’s moody pop music that even Kota is embarrassed to be associated with. 

“I can’t remember the name of the band,” he lies. 

Kenny pauses his search to look down at him sadly and Kota gives in immediately. He offers up the lock screen of his phone so that Kenny can read the name and Kota doesn’t have to say it aloud.

“Oh, nice,” says Kenny, “Do you like their new single?” Kota’s eyes feel big and wet in his face. He wants Kenny to make everything else that easy. 

Kenny crouches down in front of Kota and peers at him.

“Poor, sad, drunk Bu,” he says.

Kota knocks him back onto his ass. He’s not drunk. 

“Who is Kenny Omega in America?” he asks.

Kenny kneels up, lines of surprise all up his forehead.

“Ibu-san, are you actually high?” Kenny gets his hands under Kota’s arms and tries to pull him to his feet. Kota resists. Not because he wants to stay on the ground but because he wants to stay in the corridor. He’s not ready to go into any hotel rooms. 

Kenny says, “Kota you have to wrestle tomorrow. Were you with Chuck?”

Kota can’t remember which of the Americans was named Chuck. He’ll know next time he sees them. 

But he is fine. He can’t tell Kenny he’s fine, because that is what he would say if he wasn’t. He needs to prove he’s fine.

He gets a hold of both of Kenny’s wrists and yanks him back down to eye level. Kenny’s face is twisted up now. It’s really not that serious.

“I had a few drinks. I’m fine,” he says, confronted with Kenny’s downturned mouth. Which is exactly what he hadn’t meant to say. 

Kenny’s face clears anyway.

“Kenny, come on,” says Kota, “We’re on the same show again tomorrow.”

Kenny looks intently down at his own knees and fidgets with a couple of bands he's still wearing on his wrists. 

“Who is Kenny Omega in America?” Kenny echoes. Then he rubs a hand over his face.

“They decide,” he says.

The crowd? Ring of Honor? Both feel like a partial truth and Kota’s not sure where that leaves him. 

“Brandi will be there,” says Kota. 

Kenny shrugs at him, “She’s his wife,” as though that’s reasonable. Everyone else they know manages to turn up to work without their whole family in tow. Kenny’s still kneeling between Kota’s legs. 

“I’m not your wife,” Kota says. They’ve been together again for three short months. His throat is tight.

“You could be my wife in Canada,” says Kenny. It’s an ancient joke. Kota's eyebrows slide up into his fringe. 

It’s the first time Kota’s heard that joke in years and everything has changed so quickly around them and without them, that it’s not even entirely accurate anymore. Kota could sort of, almost, probably marry Kenny at home in Chiba next year if he wanted to. Kenny even got a passport while Kota wasn’t around. They could be partners. They’re already partners. But they could be so conventional this time. Kenny would probably do more talking about it in public.

Kenny looks surprised too, like it spilled out of him reflexively. Maybe Kenny is having trouble holding onto time too.

“I don’t need you to come to the ring with me,” Kenny says, “if that’s what you’re asking.”

Kota slumps into the wall of the corridor and ducks his head. He can breathe a little easier. 

How would he fit there, at Kenny’s side? He doesn’t trust that the crowd would still see Kota Ibushi who defeated Cody at the Tokyo Dome. He’d be poor, sad, drunk Bu; a whole different truth. Strange and exposed under the hot ring lights. Standing next to Kenny Omega in America. He wants to thank Kenny for taking it out of his hands.

“I could come out with you,” Kenny offers, but his long fingers are twisting up the fabric of his sweats. 

Kota shakes his head. 

“I’ll pin him in five minutes.”

Kenny ruffles his hair. It feels so good. 

 

* * *

 

It takes him fifteen manic minutes to pin the nobody. 

When he gets backstage Kenny’s already in gear, even though it’s an age until his match. Kenny’s match isn't happening last after all. Kota shouldn’t care about that. He wouldn't have cared about it before.

Kota showers and changes calmly and victoriously into street clothes. Tends, as best as he can, to his aches and bruises. He begins to dry his hair before the pressure in his chest becomes too much. 

Kenny is projecting blithe confidence, but the circles under his eyes are darker than ever. He’s also in gear at least half an hour too early. He engages distantly when Kota tries to distract him with a dissection of the match. He clearly watched and payed attention while Kota was in the ring but now Kota is sitting here in their little changing room he’s difficult to draw out. His attention keeps wandering like he’s already in a headspace in which Kota isn’t relevant. 

They’re in love, after all these years. Kenny told everybody and Kota’s stupid heart was so full. Kenny never really remembers to care about the concept of Bullet Club when they're not actively wrestling under that banner. Kenny held onto his idea of Kota even when Kota was in another country. Even when they hadn't spoken in years. He'll have Kenny's attention back as soon as the match is over, but childishly, he wants it now. 

“Are you going to be ready?” asks Kota.

Kenny gestures at himself in his laced up boots with a flick of his wrist.

“No” says Kota, “I mean, actually ready?”

Kenny takes a second to pull himself up from where he’s been sitting with his elbows on his thighs. 

“I’m ready. I hate him,” he says. He sticks his chin up in the air. Kota is unconvinced that this is constitutes an ideal state of readiness or that it is particularly true.

“You don’t have to,” he says, and then regrets it immediately as Kenny deflates slightly. He didn’t need to puncture the performance. 

He wants to ask Kenny why he even particularly cares about leading Bullet Club. Bullet Club is what is supposed to be on the line here. If it's really about the people, then Kota doesn’t think Cody or Kenny can bargain that much love in a fight. 

The question has occurred to him too late. Kenny’s already warming up, pumping himself up physically and emotionally. Kota’s not pulling them off that particular precipice blindly with maybe a few minutes of privacy left. 

Kenny shrugs into his leather jacket before he leaves. Kota doesn’t remember seeing it before in person, and he’s certainly never before slipped his hands under it to touch Kenny’s skin. It suits Kenny. At the last moment Kenny passes his mirrored sunglasses back to Kota. 

Kota finds a monitor hooked up to the hard camera. 

Cody and Brandi come out all in gold. They look absurdly beautiful together. Brandi kisses Cody’s hand like Kota wouldn’t. Cody holds her hand and kisses her lips. Kenny says that Brandi is a wrestler too.

The match is a disaster. Kota begins by cataloguing weaknesses to bring up during training. By the time the Young Bucks appear on screen he’s long given up.

Kota watched a similarly pixilated Kenny on a backstage monitor take Okada to a sixty minute draw last year. Then he watched Kenny pin him in under 30 minutes. Kenny still hasn’t followed up on that G1 victory over Okada. This isn’t a technical issue. 

He yanks stuffing out of the generic office chair he’s perched on as Cody gets his pin and kisses Kenny’s hand. 

There’s a title match closing the show but Kota doesn’t care. He meets Kenny in the corridor and immediately drags him back into the privacy of their dressing room. He has decided that they are leaving right now. Or, they are leaving as soon as he can persuade Kenny to move again. 

If they do have duties to sponsors Kota assumes only Kenny was informed. No one here tells him anything even though NJPW decides what Kenny can do and Kota decides for himself. 

They don't make it out as quickly as Kota would like, but staying means that Kota is gifted with an opportunity to yell at the Young Bucks. They’re shouting at Kenny in English, bullying him and they are ignoring Kota. There's no lock on the door but they barge in with no respect for the fact that neither Kenny nor Kota wants them there. They deserve it. It releases a valve on Kota's frustration. 

Back at the hotel, Kota props Kenny up by the door to Kota’s hotel room. He rests his head against the wall. Kenny didn’t object when Kota walked them straight past his floor. Kota’s sure that Kenny could walk unaided, but he lent on Kota the whole way along the endless hotel corridors.

“I can’t believe they got those golden fucking costumes made,” mumbles Kenny, “They’ve driven me all over the place. Slept in my bed. He likes Star Trek.” 

Kota ushers Kenny into the room and Kenny leans against the wall to unlace his trainers. Kota tries to process the revelation that the gold outfits were a jab at the two of them. Kenny had once tried to show Kota Star Trek with subtitles. It had been very old fashioned. He decides it's best to ignore the later half of those complaints.

Kenny doesn’t move from the wall when he’s done with his trainers. He just slumps there in a defeated slouch and looks at Kota. Like Kota has any idea where they go from here. 

“They’re unprofessional,” says Kota, with a little pomposity so that Kenny blows out a reluctant laugh.

“They cheat so much. All that kissing,” says Kenny and Kota can hear, already and indisputably in Kenny’s voice, the creeping return of tired affection that means Cody is never, ever going to leave them alone. 

Kota leans in and presses kisses up Kenny’s jaw to his ear. 

“We are very professional,” he says, “and we’ve never, ever cheated.”

“Yes,” says Kenny and his smile is careful. His hands in Kota’s hair are very careful. When Kota watched him, these past few years, he never really remembered Kenny as a careful person. 

Kota presses his hips up into Kenny’s.

“Do you want to fuck me?” 

“Tomorrow?” says Kenny, which is fine.

Kota retreats, unsure again.

“Do you want me to go back to my room?” asks Kenny. 

“No,” says Kota, much too quickly. 

Kenny shuffles away to stand under the hot water in Kota’s shower for a very long time.

Kota brushes his teeth, washes his face, pisses. Kenny just droops exhaustedly and steams up the bathroom until Kota is soggy by association. 

Kota leaves him to it. He gets into bed with his phone and idly selects a new Bloodbourne speedrun to zone out with. He’s still got a whole day and night to experience more of New Orleans and they'll need to find more food soon anyway. He can indulge himself and hide away in his room for a while. He might be looking forward to tomorrow's party, but he’s also already looking forward to going home.

Kenny comes to bed with a pile of towels, but he just uses them to protect the pillows from his sopping hair. 

He stares sadly at his own phone. Kota wishes that Kenny had done some shouting too. It was cathartic. Unlike any of their recent matches. 

Kota props his phone up in the covers over his knees and pulls the headphones out. When he pats play again, Kenny doesn’t even protest, he just watches resignedly, dripping onto his shoulders. 

Kota thinks about the warmth of a familiar old joke and the twist in his chest.

He thinks about his mother, who never tried to compete with his father's consuming love for his work. It has never diminished their connection. It doesn't make her an unhappy person.

He thinks about Brandi and Cody, a royal wrestling family, all in matching gold. He thinks about Brandi throwing herself into the action at Wrestle Kingdom. Kota doesn't want to be like either one of them.

“Kenny, was it ever like you were my wife? Before?”

“Please, Ibu-san," Kenny groans, "Don’t ruin an old joke by making me think about it too much.” 

The joke was always funny and sometimes a little awkward, but it was sweet too. It used to soothe something in Kota’s chest. 

Kota tries again, “Are you my-? With the wrestling, I mean, would you prefer to be like a wife to me now?”

It feels like the right problem, but it doesn't sound right now he's said it. He didn't mean it as an insult or an offer. He just wants to understand.

Kenny’s quiet. It’s a tense kind of silence. When Kota cranes his neck, he can see the unhappy twist of his mouth. 

Kenny says, “Thank you, precious Bu-san for your marriage proposal. I’ll consider it.” He rolls his shoulders a little, shifting Kota where Kota has ended up lightly pressed against him. Kota used to think it was a good joke. Now it just hurts inexplicably.

Kota is trying really hard to have an important conversation. He’s trying to find out what this important conversation is about. Kota pulls away. Puts distance between them. Kenny is carefully inspecting a graze on his delicate fingers, more creased around the knuckles than Kota remembers. Kota’s are the same, thicker with injuries. 

“Ok, what do you mean by ‘wife’, Ibushi? Brandi again?" then, eventually into Kota’s sustained silence, "I’ll be whatever you want me to be.” 

It’s an unfortunate thing for Kenny to have said because now Kota’s whole body has suddenly been suffused with trembling anxiety. The power of that decision is coursing through his veins like he’s a super villain ramping up for the final showdown. 

Kenny turns to look at him, expectant. As if he really believes that Kota can just decide, right now, and have reality reshape around them. Kota doesn’t know how to begin to contain the energy, where to direct the flow.

Kenny's hair is still dripping. Kota supposes that losing two singles matches in a row might feel like a crisis if you were Kenny Omega, but Kenny doesn't look like he's in crisis. His eyes are steady. He means it

Kota says, “I want us to be the Golden Lovers, still. I want to win titles.” It's true, even if it doesn't really answer the question. He wants that singing symmetry in the ring, the warm familiarity out of it and the dizzying heights of his success but one hundred fold.

It feels easy until he sees Kenny’s careful eyes. He wants them to be the same, but he doesn't want them to make the same mistakes. It's difficult when the landscape has changed so much.

The American crowd had come for the whole show, but mostly, they'd come to see Kenny victorious and then he had lost. They'd come to see him out-wrestle Cody and he hadn't. Kota doesn't know if they'll come back. Surely Kenny needs them to come back. Kota would need it. 

He's always admired Kenny's mad ambition. But no one else Kota has thought to try anything like this with had the same ambitions as Kota or loved what they do as fiercely as Kota.

Brandi seems ambitious too but it's an ambition she can share with Cody. She couldn't and wouldn't challenge Cody for his ring. That's not how this boring old world works.

Kenny's ambition brought Kenny to him, but it took him away again. Now Kenny says he doesn't care about titles. He isn't talking about getting a rematch with Cody. He'd be justified. They cheated so much. 

Kenny’s quiet and warm beside him. “That’s what I want too,” says Kenny. “This, here, is more than enough.”

That doesn't feel true. He regrets having attempted this conversation. He’s jumped without looking. 

They always wanted to be the best.

“I wanted you back as soon as you were gone” Kota says, because he can’t truthfully say the same and because it feels brave to confess it. Kenny’s flinch is translated to Kota through the hitch in the hotel duvet. 

He doesn’t want Kenny to flinch. Kenny was shouting when he pulled that first chair from Cody’s hands. 

 

* * *

 

Kota agreed to another singles match with Cody because he wants to be in the ring, because it came with another series of opportunities to tag with Kenny and because they’re trapped in a time loop. 

Kenny is never going to manage to cut these people out of his heart.

Kenny smiles and smiles at him while they train. He’s bleached the last of the black and grey out of his hair and the new blond is light and brittle in Kota’s hands. He gets glimpses of the true, mousy growth at the roots. 

Kenny tells Kota he’s happy. He tells everyone he’s happy. 

It’s not enough for Kota, but so far, nothing ever has been. It's just never before felt urgent like it does this year. His birthday is less than a month away.

Kenny said that this was enough. Kenny’s so obviously, achingly pleased to spend time with Kota. To touch Kota and to be touched. To let Kota get the crash mats out and try all the ideas Gota helps with on a new willing body. 

Kenny also avoids being trapped on the company's coaches with everyone else. Coaches are crowded, stressful and time inefficient despite the camaraderie and convenience. They both have the money to avoid them now. Kenny sits on trains with Kota, absorbed in his switch or his phone. Undemanding for hours at a time. Quiet. He handles timetables.

Kota amuses himself by adding to Kenny's already impressive and largely useless arsenal of dirty vocabulary. Even years in DDT can't compete for a life time of study. Kenny sucks it all up like a sponge.

When he looks to Kota in the ring, wrestling is light and effortless. Even at little house shows with conventional tag rules and a quiet crowd. Kenny holds Zack still so he can moonsault onto him from a balcony in his home town. When they hit their coordinated moves, he can see Kenny's body mirror his out of the corner of his eye and his love for Kenny is so bright that it burns away the memory of the twist in his chest. 

It's fun. It's simple.

Kenny was never really interested in anything simple.

When they reach the final venue of the tour and he has to relinquish Kenny to the main event again. He wants to hold onto the quiet, but it isn't going to be enough for Kenny either. Nothing ever has been.

Kota won his first match with Cody. Now he just has to do it again. Kenny might have handed him all this power, but if he’s going to use it to do something brave, he first needs to prove that he deserves it.

 

* * *

 

Cody kisses him. Cody beats him. 

Kenny tried to hand him power. Kota fumbled the catch. 

But it doesn’t matter. The next night Kenny chases after Cody, emotional and reckless, and Kota watches Bullet Club make up without Kenny anyway. 

Then Okada casually obliterates everything. 

They watch Tanahashi fail together on uncomfortable little chairs backstage. Kota couldn’t keep Tanahashi down. Kota had bowed and cried and it hadn’t even felt like defeat. Now Tanahashi is out there under the bright lights, painfully exposed. Kota can’t take his eyes off the screen. 

Kenny had been casually confident from the beginning that Okada would win. Kota couldn’t be as sure. 

“You’ll beat him again too,” says Kenny. 

Kenny’s confidence was always welcome, before, but Kota’s not convinced of Kenny’s expertise in this area, and anyway, what would be the point in beating Tanahashi now? Tanahashi is practically crying. Kenny has never been alone and looked at Tanahashi across a ring. Last time he had Bullet Club hiding in reserve. But Kenny did win that belt, and he won it from Tanahashi. He’d sneered and sung, thanked the crowd and fellated the trophy. He’d mocked Tanahashi’s air guitar with this vaguely panicked look in his eyes. It had been ridiculous and awful. It had been funny. Kota had missed him terribly. Kota thinks that Kenny might bow and cry if he faced Tanahashi now. 

Still, Tanahashi had hugged Kota back. He would never embrace Kenny. At least Kota won’t lose him down that particular avenue. An ugly thought: at least Kota can always beat him there. 

When Okada opens up the challenge, Kota finally rips his eyes away. He turns to look at Kenny. 

Kota can’t go out there; Cody just beat him. Kenny could still just about justify answering Okada, if he waits much longer he'll lose his chance. 

Kenny looks back at him, careful, clear eyed and lets the moment pass. Kota can see his leg jumping.

All that work. All that sweat and pain in the last G1 where Kota fell behind. Kota doesn’t know if he’s thankful or enraged that Kenny stays. They're supposed to want to be the best.

It doesn’t matter what Kota feels. Okada starts talking about the draw in Osaka. 

Kenny keeps looking at him. His blue eyes became familiar again so quickly, but they flicker, just for a moment, towards the screen. Okada’s voice is doubled, small through the TV speakers and bouncing grandly through the curtain, out into the corridor. The noise of the crowd bubbles. 

Kota makes himself ask, “Do you want it?” 

Kenny says, “Yes,” so quickly. 

Then he says, “I’m sorry,” which is horrifying. So much and far too little. 

Kota nods. Kota doesn't want words and he doesn't have any. There is an invisible hand around his throat. 

Okada finally says Kenny's name.

“We’ll still be a team,” says Kenny, and he goes. It’s true while it’s coming out of his mouth. Kota puts his head in his hands and his fingers over his ears to keep that suspended moment of truth. 

He can still hear the anticipatory crowd calling Kenny's name. Their clapping hands. He can tell when Kenny pushes through the curtain just from the changing quality to the noise. 

They’re never going to be the same team they were years ago. He knows, with a deep unshakeable certainty, that Kenny’s going to win. 

When he looks up, Kenny is small and pixelated.

He didn't really want Kenny to make himself smaller, even if it might have been easier at first; he doesn't want to repeat old mistakes. Kota doesn't want to shrink himself either.

On screen, Kenny’s not smiling at Okada like he smiles at Kota, but he looks alive. Kota can see his naked ambition, clear in every line of his face. As much as Kota wants that belt, he wants to reach out and snatch Kenny’s intensity from Okada. Two out of three falls. It should belong to him. 

Maybe Kota won't have to make himself smaller. Maybe this time, Kenny just is superhuman, while Kota is just human sized. Kenny is going to walk with the gods.

When he turns away from the monitor, he finds that Cody is back from wherever it was Kenny chased him, showered and pressed in his showy suit. His eyes are sharp in his pointed little face. He’s looking straight past Kota. He’s watching Kenny too. 

 

***

 


	4. Chapter 4

“I would have fucked him” says Kota, "before those tag matches."

Kenny rolls laboriously into full consciousness and reaches out in the dark of the hotel room to fumble a hand over Kota’s back and up into the hot roots of his hair. 

Kota was quiet all evening and it had been difficult to fall asleep. His world has changed so dramatically in just one day. Tonight, he’s nursing the certainty, close and electric, that he’s going to be the next IWGP Heavyweight Champion. It’s too much to be contained within one person. When Kota fucked him this evening, the knowledge sang strange and discordant between them. Kenny did his best Kota impression and pretended not to notice. 

“I was nearly asleep,” says Kenny hazily. “You wouldn’t fuck who on the roster?” Kota’s fist connects solidly with the meat of Kenny’s shoulder. He must have had his eyes open for a while, to be able to see with that kind of accuracy. Kenny retreats and blinks a little, making out Kota’s face, half pressed into a pillow. He squirms a little closer in the warm sheets, trying to make out Kota’s expression. 

“Come on then,’ he says into the yellow darkness, then, whispering conspiratorially, ‘tell me about your hypothetical work liaisons.’ 

Kota covers his face briefly with the sheet and groans out a laugh. “I’m trying,’ he says, ‘to say something serious,’ and Kenny rolls onto his front to mirror Kota’s posture, face half pressed into his own pillow. 

“I know,” he says, “I was half asleep and now I’m not half asleep,”he reaches out again carefully to tap his fingers to Kota’s fist. 

Kota nods into his pillow, and then there is just the quiet sound of him breathing and the hum the air conditioning unit. Kenny tries very hard not to speak, not to kick his legs, not to breathe louder or faster than Kota breathes. 

“It’s difficult for me to decide what to say” Kota says eventually and he pulls his hand away from Kenny, to tuck it under his pillow. Kenny swallows every instinctual response and the newly awakened churning that he pushes down, low under his sternum. Kota doesn’t sound anxious, so distress is irrational.

He tries to puzzle it out. Who in the company would Kota have wanted to fuck in the past but not in the present. Difficult. Perhaps a process of elimination. Who was un-fuckable in both the past and the present. Again, difficult. Could he eliminate Kanemaru? 

“He did make me angry, but it was fun to wind him up,” says Kota after an agonising period of careful thought.

If it was Naito, Kenny was going to be thrilled. Kota had never said aloud that he would fuck Naito, it had never come up, but Kenny could extrapolate and empathise. 

“I shouldn’t have liked any of it,’ Kota says, pulling Kenny’s attention back to his dearly serious expression, “He came to me at a strange time. ”

Kenny is reaching out in concern when the obvious hits him. He feels his arm freeze up, and his eyes have acclimated enough that he can look Kota directly in the eye when he says, laughing, ‘You wanted to stick your dick in Cody?’ 

Kota stands up on the bed, perfectly balanced and steps firmly on Kenny’s back before he hops to the floor.

“Wait!” says Kenny, “I’ll shut up.” Kota steps into his shorts and stuffs his feet into his flip flops. “Ibu-san, please,” tries Kenny, “Ibushi, Ibushi-san, can you wait.” 

Kota does not wait. He’s out of the door, before Kenny can realise he’s left the keycard to his room on Kenny’s bedside table. His phone tells him its past one in the morning, and the group chat he hasn’t been bumped from and that he should, in the very least turn off notifications for, tells him that everyone else has filmed something new for youtube. With his own shorts pulled back on and his feet in hotel slippers, Kenny grabs the two keycards and heads out into the corridor. Kota’s room is very close to Kenny’s own, but Kota isn’t outside his door. Kenny shuffles into a run made undignified by the slippers and heads for the elevators. 

He arrives just as the elevator doors open, and Kota sticks out an arm to hold them. He doesn’t get in. 

“I was going to ask reception to get me another,” says Kota when Kenny flicks the card into view, “I would have been fine”. Every muscle in his out-flung arm and in his chest is thrown into vivid detail by the harsh ceiling lights. The orange highlights in his hair glint garishly. 

“You would have been fine” agrees Kenny when it becomes obvious Kota isn’t ready to let the elevator go quite yet. 

“Wait,’ says Kota, narrowing his eyes, “did you remember yours?” Kenny pulls his card out of his pocket too and Kota slumps a little, retracting his arm from the doors. After a moment, the doors trundle themselves closed. The lift sits still behind them; the hotel is quiet. 

“I’ll shut up” says Kenny again, awkwardly and he bends to spin Kota's card low across the carpet so it lands at Kota’s feet, “I wasn’t laughing, I promise, but I can shut up.” 

Kota nods and crouches to pick up the card. Kenny watches him grit his teeth a little before he pushes up. The movement is graceful but it's been a long day. He rolls casually towards Kenny, and Kenny backs up along with him, giving him plenty of room, before pivoting and starting a slow meander past the shiny black doors, back up towards their room numbers.

When they are reach the junction between their rooms, Kenny says, “I just want to know where this conversation is ending,” to the empty corridor stretching out in front of him. He turns and finds Kota looking at him quizzically. “Is this a ‘get everything out in the open’ conversation in which case what exactly are you confessing, or are you telling me you’re going to murder someone or fuck someone, both of which would honestly be fine, or that we’re breaking up the team and you’re done with New Japan again.” Kenny’s laugh sits heavily in the quiet, carpeted corridor. He know he sounds hysterical; hyperbole is a clumsy defence. He rounds the corner back to his own part of the corridor.

Kota stops and leans himself against the wall. He says easily, ‘I was just telling you. It wasn’t a confession. I didn’t do anything wrong.’

“Obviously?” says Kenny. He knows he shouldn’t, but there is nothing left to say except, ’So, we are talking about Cody right now?”

Kota turns so his back is against the wall and looks at Kenny dubiously out of the corner of his eyes. 

“Maybe,” he says, “Yes.”

Kenny absorbs that, it doesn’t feel like enough truth to warrant this late night heart attack of a conversation. Neither attraction nor sex have ever been the concepts they were greedy to wholly possess in the other. 

“I really do get it,” he says, and gets another flicker of Kota’s eyes back in his direction. He’s narrowed them in judgement, which Kenny feels is hypocritical, but he also looks very serious in the way he only ever does when he’s containing laughter. 

“Why is it serious?,” Kenny asks. His arm drags roughly along the scuffed paint on the hotel wall as he inches compulsively closer. He hopes whoever is in the room behind this wall they’re leaning against is unaffiliated with New Japan or fast asleep and not over-hearing this conversation. 

“You know when he kissed my hand?” says Kota. “and threw a tantrum in the ring? Awful.” 

“Yes” says Kenny emphatically, then trying to coax the smile out of him for real, “you have a type.’

Kota tips his head back against the wall and doesn’t laugh at all. “When he kissed me, later.” He frowns at the ceiling tiles intently. “I didn’t like it,” and then when Kenny’s ability to stand still and not talk has been beyond tested, “And I didn’t like that it was all about you after all. Hurting you. Fucking you,” 

“It wasn’t just me,” says Kenny, urgently. This seems desperately important suddenly. Kenny tries to look at Cody’s behaviour again, with the benefit of distance. At the time it had felt like it was all about him.

“There wasn’t an ‘us’ when he started. It was about you and Bullet Club”, says Kota, “and I don’t have anything to do with Bullet Club.”

“Ok,” Kenny agrees easily, “but there was always the ghost of that ‘us’ for me. Cody knew that.”

“Then it was still about you. He kissed you too.”

“So!” says Kenny, annoyed at his own confusion, “But what are we arguing about? We didn’t want him to kiss us when he did. And he kissed you on the mouth. That’s higher on the ladder of asshole.”

“We’re not arguing” says Kota. He slides down the wall into a crouch and examines his expensive flip flops. “Or, I’m not trying to argue about the part of the conversation that you are arguing about.”

“What does that mean?” says Kenny. It comes out too loudly again. Noise is flat and loud in this ugly corridor. He wishes he’d kept his mouth shut and they’d stayed in bed. 

“I’m not sure what it means” says Kota.

Kenny crouches down to be at eye level with Kota, his knee can deal with it. The backs of his heels are hanging out of his hotel slippers anyway. More comfortable to be on his toes. He breathes deeply through the pointless frustration and looks at Kota, folded up easily and suddenly delicate. There’s a furrow on his exposed forehead. Kenny thinks about the old joke about therapists, and asks, “Can you tell me how you feel about it then? How do you feel about what it is you’re saying? Maybe I can understand then. I want to understand”

“How do I feel?” asks Kota slowly. He puts his fingers to the centre of his chest and presses hard. Then, “how do you feel?”

Kenny’s unprepared for the question somehow. Immediately he wants to say frustrated: angry and alone in company.

“I’m afraid” he says, honestly. 

“Oh” says Kota, unfolding back out of himself visibly. He twists and slumps forward onto his knees and into Kenny’s personal space. Kenny is knocked backwards onto his ass. “Yes” says Kota, “me too. I’m afraid.”

“I don’t feel afraid of you,” says Kenny quickly. Then he stops to think about that carefully. Examines himself for truth under Kota’s searching eyes. Where does fear sit if not in his chest and his neck and his knees? Why does it still burn and sting when he never cultivates it?

“I don’t feel afraid of you anymore,” he says. Kota smiles at him and knocks their foreheads together briefly.

“I’m not very scary” says Kota and he smiles so Kenny can see all the ugly fillings in his angelic mouth. Kenny laughs at him.

“I thought this was serious” Kenny says. Then, because Kota still isn’t volunteering anything beyond his quiet attention, Kenny decides to mimic Kota, to give voice to something he hasn’t thought about enough to justify or rationalise, “I think that I’m afraid for you.”

Kota doesn’t react. He’s either giving that wild, emotionally flung statement more consideration than it deserves, or he has become distracted by the hair on Kenny’s shins. 

This conversation has spiralled wildly. Kenny honestly can’t track how they got here. It’s all a wild blur of anxiety which he can’t really unpick the origins of. He’s afraid for Kota, yes. But why? Kota could kill Cody anytime he wanted too. Kenny is sure of that. Yesterday’s loss was ridiculous and not worth thinking about. Kota could have the whole world if he cared to ask for it. It was just that luck aligned with you so seldomly that you had to grab for the things you wanted more than once, no matter how gifted you were. Kota might have to ask for the world more than once. Maybe even more than twice. 

“You think you’re afraid for me,” Kota says, still trailing his fingers over the hair on Kenny’s leg, and Kenny reaches out to still him. “Or” he says, “you feel that you’re afraid for me.”

Kenny tries to think again. Then he tries to feel. What can he say when he can’t quite find the centre of the discomfort in his bones or trace it to the source. It’s too small and inconsequential. It used to be so large but now it’s hard to look directly at it. It used to be fear of being eclipsed and burned up without anyone and especially without Kota knowing or caring. He understands that old part of himself and it feels like looking at an old photograph now. Opposite. Mirrored. 

“Why are you afraid?” he asks instead. “You dodged me first. Let me think.”

“I thought we were feeling,” says Kota. Kenny’s whole head hurts. He wants to go back to bed desperately but he doesn’t want to have this conversation somewhere they can’t retreat from it if needs be. 

“I’m afraid,” Kota trails off, “This is embarrassing” he says, “I’m afraid that we won’t get everything I want.” 

“We’re going to get you everything you want.” Kenny says immediately. It’s easy. Reflexive. He reaches out to tip Kota’s chin up, revealing his glassy eyes. 

“Everything I want, for us both” Kota confirms.

“Yes.” Kenny says, and tries to reconcile the small inkling of fear that shudders through his knees, his chest, his neck. 

“You still talk like when we were kids,” says Kota, “We’re really adults this time. No one gets everything they want. I know that.”

Kenny’s father rears up in his mind. _Not with that attitude._ He thinks and he can hear, absurdly, metal on ice hissing in his ears. This is the heart of it, he decides. This has got to be it. 

“You’re going to have it all,” says Kenny, “because if I’m this good, then you’re transcendent. And because we are going to keep trying.”

“Ok,” says Kota, but he just looks more afraid. He puts his arms out and gathers Kenny in by the hair on the back of his head.

“But what happens” says Kota quietly, “if we don’t.”

“If we don’t try?” says Kenny. He tries to imagine it: not trying. Kota’s breath is fast now, which means Kenny can think faster, shaky with adrenaline, the mirrored reflection to the smooth rush of a fight.

“Kenny” says Kota, slightly desperately, and his hands grip tightly in Kenny’s hair. 

“We could not try” says Kenny, and it feels surprisingly easy to say. Matt and Nick and his father sit in his imagination. But in this moment, in this corridor, this is easy too, like breathing in fresh air on the lake or the beach. He’d be letting people down, but he’s let people down before. He’s given up things he wanted for things he loved more. 

“My knee hurts so fucking much sometimes,” he says, which isn’t right but is the best he can manage. Kota’s hands in his hair hurt too. 

“Do we still want it?” he asks Kota. 

At Kota’s wild eyed stare he tries to be reassuring: “We don’t have to want it.” Kota’s mouth is open and he looks short of breath, damp around the eyes and around his hairline. 

Kenny’s initial relief is giving way to panic more and more. He’d worked so hard. He does want it. He doesn’t want to be ashamed of that.

He’s worked so hard for them all, for the Bucks and most of all for himself. Stumbling upwards has been a dizzying rush.

The inevitable fall is going to be beyond painful, it’s just going to hurt differently if he chooses it. 

“No. No. I still want it” Kota chokes out. “I still want it so much. I don’t think I should.”

“You feel you want it.” Kenny says.

“Yes. I feel it.”

Kenny tries to gather the explosively flung relief and grief back into himself. They still want it. He’s still allowed to want it. He doesn’t have to find out if he could manage to give it up.

He reaches out to try and mirror Kota and to put his hands through the back of his hair. Kota grabs his wrists, makes sure they stay far apart enough for eye contact. Kenny’s scalp prickles where his hair has been released. That should be a relief too. 

“What happens if we don’t” Kota repeats.

“What happens if we don’t get what you want?” Kenny tries.

“Yes.” says Kota. 

“We’ll get it.” says Kenny and Kota throws down Kenny’s wrists to rub frustrated hands over his face. 

“No!” Kota says, “If we don’t. You’re hurt. I’m hurt. I don’t remember where my room is, Kenny.”

Kenny grabs at his forearms, trying to get to see Kota’s face. 

“You’ve never remembered things like that, it doesn’t mean anything. Ibu-san, please” but his face feels hot, a flush that’s hard against the back of his eyes eyes and not in his cheeks. 

“I know where your room is,” he tries desperately. Kota’s breathing is arrhythmic like he’s crying now. Kenny stops trying to pull his hands from his face and starts smoothing his hands over his shoulders, his hair, his ears. “Reception could tell you where your room is.” 

“You know where my room is.” Kota repeats senselessly. 

“Yes” says Kenny, “that’s how we work. We still work, okay. I know where your room is and you-”

Kota cuts him off, “And you main-evented the Tokyo Dome. They made you your own belt. And you know where my room is.”

“They didn’t make it for me,” says Kenny desperately. “Did you even like that match?” 

Kota’s silently heaving chest morphs into audible hysterical gasps. ’I did! Do you know where my phone is?” he asks. 

“No,” says Kenny honestly. “I can look.” 

“No, I don’t want you to know!” says Kota, “It happened so quickly. I was hardly gone at all.”

“I was here” says Kenny, and his is nose damp and disgusting but he can’t take his hands away from Kota. “I was here so it was like you were here too.”

“What happens if we don’t do it? What happens if we can’t”

Kenny grabs Kota by the arms and drags him forwards. He presses his horribly wet face into Kota’s sweaty shoulder and feels one of Kota’s arms envelop him, the way Kota’s nose bumps awkwardly with his skull as Kota pushes his face into his hair. 

“I don’t know,” Kenny says, honest again. “We’ll find other things to want.”

“I’ve wanted this the most,” Kota says. “I want other things. I’m not a zealot. But what happens if I never get any of it again, and you do?”

The lights in the corridor blink off. Kenny is abruptly aware that he is wrapped up in Kota, wet faced and snot nosed, in a public corridor. The worst kind of cliché. 

In the new darkness, Kenny manhandles Kota’s face up so he can look at him. Kota’s top lip is slimy with sweat and snot but the sudden darkness has shocked them back into sobriety. 

“I’m sorry,” breathes Kota. 

That sits like broken ribs in Kenny's chest. Kota shouldn't apologise to him. 

“The Bucks used to second me,” Kenny says and Kota nods. He shuts his eyes, resigned, but he doesn’t take his face away. “If someone was there, ringside, they could do anything they wanted.” says Kenny. 

Kota does rip his face away now. He hides himself away in his arms. 

“Seriously,” says Kenny, “Okada doesn’t get a say. It’s going to be a fight but we’re together now so only the two of us have power.”

“That’s not right,” says Kota. “Kenny, I feel it, but we’re both completely insane, you know that.”

“It’s our story. Your story. You just have to tell it yourself. It’s a story about you.”

Kota looks past him, frowning. His mouth is still pinched. Kenny nods in affirmation. He needs Kota to know how true that is for him.

Kota wipes at the mess on his upper lip, wipes his hand on Kenny’s shorts and then reaches out and attempts the same for Kenny.

“That’s disgusting,” says Kenny after he’s submitted to the treatment. 

When they stand up the lights flicker back on. Motion sensors, hopefully. He really hopes no one is watching them on some disguised cctv circuit and thinks they needs encouraging back to their rooms. 

They head back to Kota’s room this time. This kind of thing has never been more than a mild annoyance in the past but tonight Kenny desperately wants him to know where it is. 

Kenny lurks awkwardly in the corridor, “Do you want me to stay?” but Kota ushers him in. 

They wash their hands and faces and Kenny rinses the snot stain on the hem of his shorts quickly and probably ineffectually in the sink. They rip off the tightly tucked Hotel bedding and crawl under the crisp new sheets. Kenny doesn’t have his headphones or charger with him anymore or any clothes for the morning. He tucks himself into this new bed besides Kota. 

Kota considers him carefully for a few torturous moments while the pillow warms beneath his cheek, before hooking an arm around his waist and crushing their bodies together. Kota abandons his pillow to shuffle down the bed a little, shoves his head up under Kenny’s chin, tugging at his waist until he’s apparently comfortable. The sheets are caught under the mattress and looped around Kota’s feet which are so far off the bed that Kenny no longer has any bedding left to pull around his shoulders. He eyes the air conditioning unit and worms a hand into Kota’s hair. Kota’s breathing is even now and Kenny tries to use it as a metronome. 

“I don’t feel like I said what I meant to, Kenny” says Kota. His tongue flickers abruptly over Kenny’s chest and Kenny has to squirm away for a moment to rub the too light sensation from his skin. 

“That tickled” he says indignantly as Kota gathers him back.

“Toughen up. We need to get you in training,” says Kota.

“And I’m cold” says Kenny and he yanks at the sheets. Kota joins in, kicking at it until it comes loose from the end of the bed.

Happily ensconced again, Kenny tucks the sheet carefully around his arm so that Kota can get some fresh air. He doesn’t seem too bothered with his face mashed with aggressive solidity into Kenny’s chest.

“Technically, tonight, I cried after you told me you wanted to fuck Cody,” says Kenny into Kota’s hair. “We’re a cliché and a soap opera.”

“You say I’m the star,” says Kota. “so it’s one of those fancy American dramas you watch with gay sex and violence.”

There’s a loud deep chirp from the desk in the corner of the room. They both flinch a little, a chain reaction where Kenny’s not sure who jumped first. Kota grumbles as he rolls back out of bed and retrieves his phone. 

“Just an email,” he says as he slides back in besides Kenny. “I don’t know where our chargers are.”

“Me neither,” Kenny lies. 

When Kenny’s drifting again, Kota’s hand still stroking through his hair, Kota licks him again. 

“What?” he says “please, I don’t want to fuck, we literally just finished crying. My whole brain hurts.” 

“Was it really like I was here? Just because you were here?”

“Yes,” says Kenny. “Or, it was enough that you weren’t gone.”

Kota scrubs his forehead against his chest. “It just doesn’t feel true” he says. “You weren’t in WWE because I was there.”

“It’s different” says Kenny. He can’t explain it. Particularly not tonight.

“So, what happens if we can’t do it?” Kota repeats.

He can’t give him his father’s answer. He can’t tell him what the Bucks might say. He hopes Kota works out how to ask someone else after this. For now he tries to dredge up an answer that feels true enough for them, now, in the face of this banal and towering question. What if you fail? What if you have to live with regret and disappointment. Kenny doesn’t know. 

He wants to turn the question back on Kota. He’s not a zealot either. There are other things beyond wrestling. But he wanted to wrestle in Japan and he has. He wants to be a legend. He doesn’t have to worry about disappointment from that dream, because he won’t be around to know if it never comes true. That kind of thing is decided once you die, not in two years of madly clinging on near the top. The rest is unfolding, he can feel it. He doesn’t want to jinx it. 

“If we can’t do it.” says Kenny eventually, “we won’t know for years. We have time.”

“So?” says Kota.

“So you’ll be old and wise,” says Kenny, “you’ll know what to think about how you feel and how to feel about what you think. You can pass down your wisdom to me”

“Really, do you know anyone who got older and didn't secretly get stupider?” says Kota.

“You, obviously" says Kenny, "But anyway, it’s a story.” 

“People do get old and wise in stories,” Kota concedes. 

“Or,” says Kenny, he has to cast around for the vocabulary, “we could have therapy. Everyone has therapy now. Therapy from someone even older. Or young with an actual education.”

Kota snorts inelegantly. “Imagine what my mother would think.” says Kota, with a grin Kenny can feel against his chest. Kenny tries to imagine it. The neat, beautiful woman he’s seen in pictures and heard about in fragments. Would she be scandalised? Pleased? Kota obviously knows or thinks that he knows but Kenny can’t make the jump. He contemplates his own mother’s bafflement with everything he’s chosen so far in life and imagines that if he decided to tell her he was having therapy she would still largely be confused. 

“Anyway, you should have therapy right now” says Kota. “You think we’re in a story.”

 

* * *

 

It _is_ a story. It’s as breathtaking and agonising as a fairytale. He has everything he ever wanted. Kota gifts him the phoenix splash. Kota’s warm hands pull a title tight around his waist. Matt and Kota hoist him up into the air and Nick keeps gently reaching for Kota. 

Also he pins Kazuchika Okada twice in one night and becomes the IWGP Heavyweight Champion. 

He has more power than he’s ever had in his whole life - more power than he’d even been able to sniff at two years ago. He buckles under the weight of it with the microphone in his hand, “my lover…s,” he says, gesturing back at Kota and the Bucks. It’s nearly there. The camera’s gaze is heavy. Kota’s eyes on the back of his neck prickle. Some other night, they need to talk to each other.

With the lights so bright and hot, he’s unable to see anything of the crowd. Just the gaping blackness of the stadium. He can hear them.

He tells them change is coming, because fuck Tanahashi. He tells them that he’ll never stay calm, because fuck Naito. Fuck all of them. He loves them. He loves this sport, and now it's indisputably his. It’s intoxicating.

He’s too exhausted for hysteria - he can only push through until he can put the belt down again and close his eyes - but he’s touched with a similar madness; phantom energy in his heavy muscles. Kota keeps him upright. He manages not to throw up but the title weighs so much he can barely lift it.

Backstage in front of the press he remembers to admit, all over again that he respects Okada. He confesses that sometimes he believed Okada might win. It can’t hurt him anymore.

“We’re not all getting freaky with you,” says Matt, back at the hotel, perched on the edge of the opposite bed, “Lovers. Jesus Christ, Kenny.” Nick is still methodically shoving sheaves of fries into his mouth 

“Well then, fuck off again,” says Kenny. It comes out fluttery. There’s no fear, just too much air in his lungs. Matt dives for him across the gap between the beds. 

“Too soon,” says Matt, as Kenny rolls them and tries to pin him.

It’s good to have an outlet. He lay on the bed vibrating silently, while the Bucks fetched them food. Kota fussed and then retreated to the privacy of the bathroom for what felt like hours. 

__The beds are littered with burger wrappers. Matt restrains his flailing arms and flips him and now Kenny is lying on one with Matt’s weight pressing him into it’s greasy paper.__

____

____

__Kenny has been observing a pretty strict protein based nutritional regime over the last month. The sudden overload of sugars and carbohydrates is hitting strangely. He’s looking forward to eating normally again, but this may have been an overly ambitious start._ _

__“Matt, stop,” he says, and Matt stops trying to get an arm across his throat. All his weight is still on Kenny’s stomach. “I’m going to puke on you.”_ _

__Matt scrambles off him, almost as quickly as he arrived._ _

__“Oh no you don’t,” he says unhelpfully._ _

__Nick observes critically as Kenny sits up._ _

__“Eyes too big for your stomach,” he says and holds out a bottle of water, “Don’t throw up. You need the calories.” Kenny missed getting the Dad treatment so much. Although Nick is much sweeter with his actual children._ _

__Kenny glances at Kota. He’s sat cross legged at the head of the bed, sucking at a straw stuck into a large takeaway Coke. He raises his eyebrows at Kenny._ _

_“Matt doesn’t want to have sex with me. I almost threw up,”_ Kenny summarises for him. 

__Kota pulls an exaggerated expression of disgust._ _

__“That translation must have been good. Exactly that face.” says Matt. “Let’s ask him to be on our show.”_ _

__“Maybe we should apologise or something first,” suggests Nick, “chat him up a bit.”_ _

__“We’ve hugged lots,” says Matt, “let’s move on.”_ _

__Honestly Kenny thinks that will probably suit Kota better. He sips at his water carefully. Now he doesn’t have Heavyweight Matt Jackson sitting on his stomach, he feels much better._ _

__“How bad is his rate?” Matt asks Kenny, then he holds up a hand, turns to Kota, very formal, “Would you be available to appear on our show?”_ _

_“It’s in America,”_ Kenny clarifies, _“they’ll fly you out.”_ Then he repeats, “You’ll fly him out,” in English, perhaps more aggressively than was warranted. Nick nods along. Matt and Nick are both watching Kota with silent intensity. They’ve discussed this in advance and come here prepared. Kenny loves them. Kota slurps loudly through his straw. 

_“They want me to work that show you’re on?”_ he checks. Kenny nods. He wants it too. 

_“I’ll do it. Tell them to email me,”_ Kota says, and he sticks his chin out a little. Matt and Nick hoot and punch each other. Nick reaches over to shake Kota’s hand enthusiastically. Kenny can see the smile at the corners of Kota’s mouth. 

__“It’s going to be the best six man tag, ever,” Nick says._ _

__“Hey,” says Kenny mildly._ _

__Matt makes faux noises of sympathy and tries to cradle Kenny’s face._ _

__“We’ve got Rey Mysterio against us and Kota Ibushi.”_ _

__Kota is still hiding behind his straw but his eyes are more urgent when Kenny looks at him._ _

__“Rey Mysterio?” he asks._ _

_“Yeah, you three tag against Rey Mysterio.”_

__Kota slams his Coke onto the bedside table, where it knocks over the one empty beer bottle he’d let them buy for him. He bunches up his fists over his head and lets out a deep primal scream of excitement. It reverberates through Kenny’s bones._ _

__Nick yells back at him, laughing. After that, Kenny just has to watch as they quickly work their way up to a backflip off the bed while holding onto each other, Lucha Libre style. This seems like an ideal way to burn through any lingering tension. Also, Kota didn’t get to fight tonight. Kenny always used to feel like exploding through his skin after a night of kneeling on the mats as Kota spun his way through a big match. Kota never seemed stranger than usual after doing the same for Kenny back then. But things were different then and they hadn't been alone._ _

__Matt comes to sit next to him as Kenny lies back on the bed. He’s not interested in doing that to his knees on his best day and he just went over an hour with Okada. He just won The Belt. He kicks his legs, he has no strength left to deal with this energy. The belt is in his suitcase right now. It would be tacky, even for him, to get it out._ _

__He puts his hands over his face. He’s not sure if he’s hiding the smile that hurts his cheeks or his wet eyes._ _

__“Seriously, congratulations,” says Matt._ _

__“Thanks, you too,” says Kenny for the hundredth time tonight. He can’t deal with another play by play. He’ll cry or he’ll start mixing it all up in his head. He wants it to stay preserved; sharp and clear._ _

__“It was beautiful,” Matt says, which is what Kenny wanted, desperately, just as much as he wanted the actual belt._ _

__“Yes,” he says and then gives himself away by sniffing loudly and wetly behind his hands._ _

__Matt pats him on the chest._ _

__“I want to do it again. I want to wrestle him again,” he says although intellectually he knows that is a very bad idea._ _

__“Masochist,” says Matt and tweaks his nipple for him, “there, please don’t wrestle Okada again for a very long time. Have Ibushi tie you up or something.”_ _

__Kenny can’t stop himself from locking up, every emotion he’s ever had is sitting outside his skin tonight, pushing at the walls of the room. Matt removes the hand from his chest very quickly._ _

__When Kenny looks up at Matt he’s very diligently watching Kota and Nick, pretending he hadn’t felt Kenny’s reaction at all._ _

__Kenny taps his knee, “I will actually have Ibushi tie me up,” he says, very carefully, so that Matt will know to pay attention to the joke. Matt looks down at him. Kenny know his eyes are overly wide._ _

__“Seriously,” he says. Matt looks at Kota again, across the room. Disregarding a few recent and minor issues, Matt has always been very good at understanding Kenny. Matt nods at him. Pats him again._ _

__“Uh, ok," says Matt, "Then that will be very beautiful too,” and relieved laughter bursts from Kenny’s aching chest. His ribs really do hurt where he went into that barrier. Even Kota had fussed over the welt, so he knows it must have looked bad._ _

__Kota is now showing Nick videos Nick is insisting he’s already seen on his phone. You don’t need much shared language to be bossed around by Kota Ibushi. Kenny has experience._ _

__“Is he, like, your boyfriend now? Or again?” He’s frowning down at Kenny. “Sorry if there’s a better word.”_ _

__Kenny shrugs. They are the Golden Lovers. If he was a responsible adult with any real courage left for outside of the ring he’d talk to Kota about it again._ _

__“So, now we’re _kind of_ acknowledging whatever this is, I have to ask,” says Matt, “Are you calling him, like, Mr Boo in public, man?”_ _

__Kenny groans and tries to roll away from him._ _

__“Because Marty keeps asking me,” Matt says, “and because I’m pretty open about my love for my wife of ten years but that stuff isn’t getting said at work. And I’m from California.”_ _

__“It’s just his name shortened,” says Kenny, “the language is very different.” Matt is trying to roll him back over._ _

__“He just told me to call him Kota tonight,” says Matt, “I’m the one who’s going to puke now.”_ _

__“He was always Ibushi in DDT, it's because you only speak English,” says Kenny, “Stop. I’m being polite, respectful.”_ _

__Matt successfully pins his shoulders and hips, in time to witness him blush hideously._ _

__“Oh no, Kenny. Really?”_ _

__Kota arrives lightly on the bed._ _

_“Here,”_ he says and tosses Matt an unopened bag of candy, so Matt has to quickly let go of Kenny’s shoulders or get smacked in the face. 

Matt snatches it from the air, “Yeah ok, no bullying poor, giant Kenny. _Ibushi, thank you,”_ and he has to be so careful when he pronounces the Japanese that he can’t put any of the sarcasm on his face into the words. “Nick, we’ve got an early flight tomorrow.” 

__Kota and Matt still hug before Kota shows the Bucks out. Gifting Rey Mysterio to someone will go a long way. They leave with Kenny’s celebration candy. It’s fine. Whatever it is that is happening with his mood and his muscles, it probably doesn’t need any more sugar._ _

__As soon as the door closes he yanks off the gym shorts he’d been unjustly forced to wear while they ate. He can still feel the lights above the ring beating down on him. He’s not sweating. He should probably drink several gallons more water._ _

__He grabs a bottle lying on top of an overflowing rucksack. A consequence of the two of them officially sharing a room again, is that there is twice the mess there normally would be, already covering the floor and every available surface._ _

__The company had been awkward about paying for a freelancer to come along when Kota didn’t have a match, so they’ve compromised by sharing a room. Two large beds, side by side. Negotiated via email so nobody had to decide what facial expressions to pull. Better than two singles and a fold out bed in the corner for a third like when they’d been new. Not quite as good as Kota having somewhere to retreat to, unless one of them wants to lurk in the bathroom again._ _

__He tweaks his neck, draining the bottle. Tries to stretch out the ache. Reaches to set both hands on the floor to elongate his spine. He shouldn’t have gone for the bridge on that suplex. He doesn’t do that anymore for this reason._ _

__He totters a little, straightening up and finds Kota watching him with his arms crossed. “Don’t injure yourself now the fight is won. Get into bed.” Kenny’s beyond tiredness now, in the way that means he might not to be able to sleep ever again._ _

__“I could go another sixty,” Kenny lies and he grabs for Kota as he approaches, gets his arms around him and pins Kota’s elbows to his sides. Kota ducks sharply in his grip, throws his released arms around Kenny and drives him hard with his shoulder, back onto the bed._ _

__Kenny’s ribs flair with pain. He yelps and lets himself go limp as Kota scrambles up on top of him. He squeezes his eyes shut, grinning helplessly again._ _

__“Liar,” says Kota, and he gives Kenny’s shoulders a shake that echoes awkwardly up his neck and into his skull._ _

__“Careful, Bu-san” says Kenny, mildly, without opening his eyes. Kota’s grip disappears quickly. Returns, gentle on his ribs, a thumb tracing the raised welt on his side. He’s barely resting any weight on Kenny’s stomach. There’s just his warm presence and the slippery material of his gym shorts._ _

__“I was talking to Matt about us,” Kenny admits. He opens his eyes to try and scrutinise Kota’s face. Kota’s just watching his thumb traverse the ridges of bone in Kenny’s chest._ _

__“He tried to thank me for looking after you,” says Kota, and his face scrunches up, “I pretended not to understand.” Kenny rests his knuckles on Kota’s thighs. Digs gently into the muscle._ _

__“I couldn’t have done this without you,” Kenny says, then, because he’s still barely contained within his own body, “Please, I don’t ever want to do this without you.”_ _

Kota gathers up Kenny’s head and pulls him up, through the pain in his ribs, pushes Kenny’s face into his neck. Kenny hides gratefully. The _please_ slipped out without conscious permission. Exhaustion keeps crashing into him in waves, rolling away to leave crackling adrenaline or blistering happiness. It’s unpredictable. Perhaps it is hysteria that he’s tightly managing. 

__Kenny can’t have another important conversation where Kota doesn’t know what he’s trying to say. Not tonight in his creaky, burger filled fairytale ending. They could have gone out to some wonderful restaurant, but the Bucks wouldn’t have appreciated it and Kota probably preferred the burgers anyway. Also he might have fallen asleep in the food. Stupid Cody would have taken him out and appreciated his recommendations, but that would have been awkward. He’s going to have to fight Cody again. As if he cares anymore. As if Cody could win this belt from him._ _

__“You’re next,” he says to Kota’s neck. He can make it true because he has more power than he’s ever had in his life. He didn’t mean it to sound like a threat._ _

__“Whenever you want,” he tries, instead._ _

__“Hmm,” says Kota,. He doesn’t sound like he believes it._ _

__“Really, really” says Kenny and kisses Kota’s unimpressed mouth, his tired eyes._ _

__Kota got them here but Kenny is still going to make sure Kota gets everything he ever wanted. The incompatibility of this statement with the belt weighing down Kenny’s suitcase isn’t something Kenny can examine tonight. He can just feel it, as awkward as the belt was around his waist. Kenny is going to make sure everyone keeps acknowledging Kota’s excellence. He promised that he was on Kota’s side. He can keep proving it._ _

__Kenny pulls Kota’s shirt up and off quickly. Willing to bully him a little when he hesitates. He wraps an arm around Kota’s waist. Pulls him in. Feels his soft, warm skin against his chest. This feels urgent, a way to prove his devotion. It’s another shocky surge of adrenaline. He gets his hands into Kota’s hair, tugs him forwards into a kiss, licks at his upper lip. Kota nips at his mouth, pushes quickly back against him._ _

__He tries not to think about how he might have created a time limit for them, or made himself a liar again, but the fear still skitters through him._ _

__He has to force himself to relax into the kiss. To breathe. To loosen his grip on Kota’s neck._ _

__“No. Come on,” says Kota. He grips his knees to Kenny’s hips and loops his arms around Kenny’s shoulders. Pulls him in in turn. He bites Kenny’s jaw instead, teeth sharp and wet through his stubble._ _

__“Kenny. Come on. Come on.”_ _

__Kenny flips them, lays Kota back onto the covers. Kota pulls Kenny down onto him. Pushes up against him. His gym shorts are slippery between them. He can feel Kota, the hardening line of his cock, pressed against his thigh._ _

__Kenny resists the hands on his shoulders. Looks down at Kota, with his dark, shiny eyes and his hair already in disarray. The warm flush of blood in his ears._ _

__“This is the perfect ending,” he tells Kota._ _

__“Kenny,” Kota says, his voice gone rough, “stop talking.”_ _

__“But it is,” says Kenny and he brushes his thumb against the grain of evening stubble under Kota’s chin, “you’re perfect too.”_ _

__Kota bucks his hips again. Screws his face up. Groans and surges up to kiss Kenny again. Kenny tries to keep up, pushes a thigh between Kota’s legs. Tries to hold up his heavy head on his creaking neck. Kota kisses him wet and careless. It’s good. It hurts._ _

__Kenny brings Kota with him when he rolls to the side. Keeps a hand hard on his back. Keeps his leg pressed between Kota’s thighs. Kota breaks the kiss to bite at his neck. That feels good. Pressure on the tight, aching muscle. A sharp distraction. Kenny can rest his head on the pillow. Kota’s teeth are blunt and his tongue is hot on Kenny’s shoulder._ _

__Kenny puts a hand to the waistband of Kota’s shorts. Rests his fingers under the elastic. Tugs a little, waiting for confirmation, teasing the silky polyester. Kota jerks away and tugs them off with his underwear. Throws them hard off the end of the bed._ _

__He crowds back in, digs his fingers to Kenny’s jaw._ _

__“Be less careful,” says Kota, his eyes pinched and dark._ _

__Kota had to come and collect him from the shower after the match. Kenny lost the world sitting under the hot water. He feels the same way now, looking at Kota’s clenched teeth between his parted lips._ _

__“Kenny?” says Kota. His grip just as tight, but his is face transformed, his eyes are soft again._ _

__Kenny snatches his wrist and rolls him. Kota goes lightly._ _

__“Where did we hide the lube?” says Kenny. Kota brightens. He casts both arms out under the pillows. Kenny digs through the crumpled bedspread. Then he kneels up to rip them back, out from underneath Kota. Kota scrambles up and emerges triumphant, tube in hand, from digging his arm down the back of the mattress. Kenny kicks the covers to the end of the bed vindictively. It’s polite for housekeeping and the kicking makes him feel better. He turns back to Kota who is watching him with his eyebrows raised again._ _

__“Less careful?” he asks. He hears his voice pitch louder than it should. He’s been trying and failing. He doesn’t know how to reign anything in._ _

__They kneel on the bed, watching each other. Kenny reaches out, cautiously for Kota’s leg._ _

__Kota throws the tube at him._ _

__Kenny absorbs the pointy plastic edges of it into his chest. Then he reaches out quickly. Drives a hand into the fold of Kota’s knee and shoves him backwards. Kota tips, arms shooting out, and Kenny follows through when his leg pops, seizing the back of his calf and yanking him down the bed. Less careful. Kota ends up spread out in front of him. Arms and legs thrown wild, grinning madly at the ceiling. Kenny doesn’t know what to do now. He’s so fucking tired._ _

__Kota kicks at the hesitation. Kenny grabs his ankle and throws it back onto the bed. He fumbles with the tube, squeezing tepid lubricant into his hand. He puts his fist straight around Kota’s cock. Kota jumps._ _

__“Rude!” says Kota, but he’s panting as he tries halfheartedly to kick at Kenny again. His arms are still limp and splayed on the bed. Kenny works the lube over the length of him, lets it squeeze between his fingers. He rolls with the kicks until Kota’s heel catches him in the ribs._ _

__He yelps, flails, grabs Kota’s leg to pin it under his arms and yanks at him again. He’s smeared a shiny lube handprint over Kota’s abdomen catching his balance._ _

__Kota doesn’t apologise, but he does frown up at the ceiling. Kenny drops a kiss to Kota’s knee._ _

__Kota’s leg jerks again. Less care. Right._ _

__Kenny smears the lube from his palm over the backs of his fingers. Drags them up Kota’s cock again. Then he presses his knuckles behind Kota’s balls. Hard and as sudden as he can make it. He watches Kota’s stomach muscles jump, watches his lips pull back from his teeth. Then he slides down further, scrubs lube over dry skin. He and Kota work to tilt Kota’s hips. He presses in quick and deep with two fingers and watches Kota’s abdominals ripple into view._ _

__“Condom?” says Kenny._ _

__Kota waves a hand dismissively, “Still in a bag.” He’s pushing up to meet Kenny. Eyes till screwed up. Kenny twists his fingers. Draws them out._ _

__“So. Shall I go look?”_ _

__Kota flaps a hand again. His breathing is rough._ _

__Kenny tries to decide if he cares. He wipes his fingers ineffectually on Kota’s inner thigh. Watches the sparse hairs there glisten._ _

__Kota kicks him again._ _

__It’s not a pleasant emotion that drives him forward. A sharp twinge that runs down his spine. He pushes Kota back into the bed with a shoulder under his knee and a slippery hand glancing off his shoulder. There is an intense, fluttering pulse in his throat. Kota’s breath shivers out of him and Kenny’s hurt leaves him in a similar rush. There is a smug turn to Kota’s mouth. Kenny resists the urge to kiss it. He drops his head to Kota’s chest._ _

__“Come on,” says Kota._ _

__“Ok,” he mutters to himself. Repeats it. Reaches down to smooth a hand over his own cock._ _

__Then Kenny rolls him up. There’s not really any other way to think of it. It’s not a heavy pin, Kota could lift a shoulder if he wanted. Kenny can’t actually remember he last time he won anything important like this anyway. It’s easy to hook an arm under Kota. He tilts his hips cooperatively._ _

__Kenny glances up at the short fan of Kota’s lashes, the loose line of his neck. Kota is bigger, particularly now, than almost anyone Kenny has fucked like this. But when he wants to, he can make himself so light. Kenny gets a knee up for support. For leverage._ _

__He presses a hand into the meat of Kota’s shoulder, just enough to see his chest hitch. Leans in with his weight, and looks up at Kota’s face again. He’s still got his eyes closed. His throat feels tight._ _

__He strokes himself. Gets wet. Pushes into place with the soft tickle of hair against his fingers. Pushes again. Through clinging resistance, the hot flare of pressure and the smooth familiar glide. He watches Kota’s pleased face. Quick. Trying not to be careful._ _

__He rolls his hips, deeper, wanting more heat. Watches Kota’s mouth go slack and his eyebrows draw tight. Kenny pushes up. Sweeps Kota’s hair back from his forehead. Rolls his hips again, to feel skin against his hips, to watch Kota gasp._ _

_“Fuck,”_ he says “you’re -” 

__Kota pushes his thumb into Kenny’s mouth. He always liked him to talk, before. He’s still got that pleased tilt to his mouth. Kenny bites Kota’s thumb. Slides a hand into the short back of Kota’s hair and pulls. Kota finally opens his eyes and looks back at him. His pupils blow out quickly, dark and shiny. He tugs at his thumb. Kenny bares his teeth, keeps his grip and rolls his hips, hard, with as much follow through as he can manage. Kota shows Kenny all his teeth in return, his knees tight along Kenny’s sides._ _

__“Yes,” he says, “Kenny, come on.”_ _

__Kenny drops his forehead back to Kota’s chest and fucks him, as fast and brutal as he can. He watches Kota’s wet cock move against his stomach. Watches it jump as the ridges of his stomach compress with each roll of Kenny’s hips. Kota pushes at his hips with his heels, clutches at his hair and neck._ _

__He rests his forehead on Kota’s shoulder, keeps the pressure off his neck, feels the tight grip of Kota’s hand arrive at the base of his skull, grounding._ _

__Which is what Kenny wanted. To be wrapped up in Kota. He can give Kota what he wants too._ _

__He lets himself be careless. Listens to Kota’s breathing get louder, rougher above his head. He lets go of Kota’s shoulder to get a still slick hand around his cock. Can barely coordinate himself to move it consistently. Settles on at least being tight._ _

__He can feel a rising wave of hysteria rushing up his spine. Kota under him, around him. He wants to watch again but he can’t look up without breaking rhythm - without breaking Kota’s grip on his neck. He bites Kota instead. Digging his teeth into the tight skin by his nipple. Kota’s legs lock against him, and he manages to move the fist around Kota’s cock evenly for a few rough strokes._ _

__Kota jerks against him, coming over Kenny’s hand and across his stomach, chest pushed up and out against Kenny’s face. Kota groans, low and satisfied and Kenny can hear his heart thumping wildly beneath him._ _

__Kota jerks his hips again and Kenny keeps his hand tight around Kota’s cock, works his hips, focused on the swirling smell of sweat and spunk, the clinging heat around his cock._ _

__Kota rocks up to meet him, and gasps, loud in the quiet room. He says, “Kenny,” softly, and Kenny comes, gut punched and panicky, moving through silky slickness as his vision whites out, as his pulse beats in his ears and inside of Kota. It snaps the tension in his chest, but there’s no wailing storm sweeping in. It’s just relief. Kota gently removes his hand from his cock._ _

__He tumbles them flat onto the bed with his messy hand cupped around where they are suddenly no longer joined. Kota grunts at him, lets his legs unfold slowly. Kenny will sit up and admire him very soon. His chest is so warm beneath his cheek._ _

__Kota lies under him, petting his hair. Shivering when Kenny digs his knuckles into his side. Kenny can feel him stretching out his legs._ _

__Then he shoves Kenny off. He brushes a thumb quickly over Kenny’s mouth and Kenny gets a brief look at his flushed face and bright eyes. Then he’s up, stumbling a little on his way to the bathroom. Kenny cautiously tests twisting his neck. It actually feels better. As though he forgot to hold the tension in the muscles and they unlocked. That’s a lesson to hold on to: ignore problems and they resolve themselves. He rolls out of bed and follows after Kota._ _

__“No. No,” says Kota, when he appears. He has a wet towel in hand and he immediately bullies Kenny into the wall, scrubs it over Kenny’s cock until Kenny pulls it from him. Kenny touches the edges of hysteria again for a moment, back in the ring with another two minutes rushing away from them._ _

__“Don’t you want to be in bed?” Kota says, grabbing himself another towel, “Go back to bed.”_ _

__Kenny washes in the sink, while Kota watches and then he retreats._ _

__He turns down the other bed. Lets himself crash into the cool, fresh sheets._ _

__Kota comes back to bed quickly, snapping the lights off and snatching another couple of water bottles out from under the desk. He passes both to Kenny, and Kenny sets one on the bedside table, and mostly drains the other. He hands the rest to Kota, who gulps it down and chucks the bottle vaguely in the direction of the bin._ _

Kota turns to look at him expectantly. The lamp fixed to the wall on Kenny’s side of the bed is the last light to turn off. Kenny wants to make some wild declaration. Wrap the happy ending up with a bow. His heart is still rabbiting away stupidly. It keeps falling out of him in interviews. Be less careful. 

Kota click his fingers at him, points to the light switch. 

__Kenny can be careful. Kota always prefered gestures to words and selfishly he doesn’t want to jeopardize the warmth in his chest. Kota gifted him the phoenix splash. Kota fastened the title around his waist. What paltry statement of devotion can compare to any of tonight. His promises will look after themselves for now. He turns off the light._ _

__“This has been the best story,” he says. Now he’s relaxed he can camp it up a little. It’s true even if it sounds absurd. Four months of something he’d never thought to have again. An achievement he’d only dreamt about in his wildest fantasies the last time they were together._ _

__Kota frowns at him through the hotel’s attempt at darkness. Kenny settles down into the pillows and tugs at Kota._ _

__Kota comes to him. Continues his scrutiny._ _

__“It was a beautiful match,” he says. Kenny’s heart thunders in his ears, “I was…” he trails off, dropping his gaze to the sheets, unable to find the words, “but I was proud too,” he says, with a nod, looking briefly into Kenny’s eyes. Then he turns his back and pushes his face into the pillow to sleep._ _

__It’s strange how ordinary everything is. Kota breathing steadily beside him. His aching body. The smell of takeaway grease._ _

__Kenny sits up to pull the bedspread up and over them and to brush the remaining burger wrapper onto the floor. He curls up at Kota’s back._ _

____

 

***

 


	5. Chapter 5

In Kenny’s Happily Ever After, they are lying in Kota’s unmade bed under the air conditioner, with the summer opening up before them. They’ve exercised and eaten and Kota doesn’t know if Kenny plans to go home today. Surely the cat needs feeding. Kota doesn’t know if he’ll be invited. He has no plans and he doesn’t want to work out alone this evening. 

Kenny is in fierce email negotiations with someone, which means he’s been typing and re-typing the same email for what feels like hours, occasionally asking Kota for grammatical advice before insultingly looking up the same information online anyway. He’s swearing at himself in English. 

Kota gazes at the smooth white expanse of his apartment ceiling. He keeps circling back to the same niggling problem. Best to hit it now, he thinks, before the target moves. 

“Kenny,” says Kota. “Tell me how you think your story ends.” 

“It already ended” says Kenny, his voice clipped, attention on his phone. “I won the heavyweight title with you in my corner.”

Kota slaps at him without looking. As he suspected: idiocy. 

“Are you dead?” he says and there; Kenny’s problems are solved. It’s such an easy win. If only Kota’s problems could be solved as easily. “No. Tell me how my story ends.”

“Alright,” says Kenny, dropping his phone into the sheets. “You defeat me.”

Kota rolls to straddle him so he can better look at Kenny’s expressionless face. He’d been half expecting some disingenuous prevaricating. Kenny’s emailing must have been going very badly. 

“But Kenny, I’ve defeated you so many times.”

“You defeat evil and the taint within yourself by kicking the shit out of me at the Tokyo Dome. Then you get blessed by Tanahashi or whoever.”

He moves so he’s hovering directly over Kenny’s scrunched up face. It doesn’t sound like a joke. He doesn’t want Kenny to hide. He doesn’t want Kenny to look at anything but him. Kenny is eerily still underneath him. 

It’s an ugly gift, he supposes; Kenny offering his own carcass up to Kota. He doesn’t know what to do with the dead body in his arms, particularly when it was tossed to him so carelessly. When his childhood cat carried in dead birds his mother would throw them out with the waste food. 

“We can get through it,” Kenny revises when Kota says nothing, “I want us to make it.”

Kota gathers up Kenny’s wrists and places them carefully above his head. 

“Kenny, you are the most depressing person in the world.” Kota ducks down to kiss his unhappily quirked mouth.

“You tell me the story then.” says Kenny, uncooperatively against his mouth.

Kota pulls back. Just because Kenny’s story sticks in his throat doesn’t mean that he has a better one ready. 

“Our sex life dies because of how depressed we are.”

Kenny stares flatly up at him. “You started it.”

“I thought you might say something romantic,” lies Kota, “stupid of me I know.”

“It was romantic!” says Kenny. Kota smothers his urge to laugh against Kenny’s lips. Kenny gives a little to the smile and deigns to kiss him back.

“Seriously,” says Kenny. “What do you think happens at Wrestle Kingdom? What’s your story? Or what’s my story? You looked at the belt significantly, right?”

How will they even get there. That promise is wild and strange and Kota doesn’t want to discuss that or the belt again. He hadn't looked at the belt significantly. He'd looked at the belt with pride, with satisfaction and admittedly with that painful old twist in his heart. It had hurt. He wants it. He wants to win it.

He tugs Kenny up, so he can sit between his legs and fumble Kenny’s t-shirt up and off. He runs his hands appreciatively over the smooth swell of Kenny’s shoulders and the showy strength of his chest.

“Maybe, eventually, I teach you so well that you defeat me.”

Kenny grabs at his neck and gives Kota’s head a little shake. “That’s not a good story,” he says. Kota breaks Kenny’s hold by pulling off his own t-shirt. 

“But you’re such a good student,” he says and then he brushes a thumb over Kenny’s mouth to see him shudder twice. 

Kenny’s eyes drop slowly to Kota’s waistband and he goes easily to his back as Kota shadows him down. He even puts his hands back up on the pillow above his head as Kota kisses him and leisurely rolls his hips. This time Kenny’s focused when he kisses back. 

“You have to promise to try,” says Kota into Kenny’s mouth. Kenny should always want to win, or else it won’t be fun or fair. Or else it will hurt in so many new ways that Kota doesn’t have the experience to cope with. He drags his cheek across Kenny’s stubble. “It won’t be a good story if you don’t try.”

Kenny grabs one of Kota’s hands and brings it back up so they can twine their fingers together. 

“I don’t know if I could manage not to try,” says Kenny.

Kota levers himself up on that elbow so he can run his other hand over the extended plane of Kenny’s pectoral, the cut ridges of his delicate ribs under heavy muscle and the hardening swell of his cock in his shorts. Kenny grips at his fingers, kicks at his ass with a heel on his way to running the smooth arch of his foot down the back of Kota’s thigh and matches him kiss for kiss. It’s not until Kota breaks the kiss to squirm out of his own shorts that either of them speak again. 

“Please,” says Kenny and Kota crushes his hand to own cock as he scrambles to get back between Kenny’s legs. 

“Please, Bu-san. Tell me how the story goes.” 

Kota drops his head onto Kenny’s stomach, his hands on Kenny’s still clothed hips. Kenny’s hips jump up to meet him. Kota tries to recall exactly what nonsense could be just as important as that reaction, the ripple of muscle against his cheek, the throb of his own cock. Kenny’s hips jump again when Kota breaths hot air vindictively onto his stomach. Kota can see the outline of Kenny’s cock. There has been enough talking.

“Ibu-san, please,” says Kenny and his long fingers are carding through Kota’s hair.

Fine. Kota started this. Kota can do this. 

“Our next movie isn’t out yet.” Kota sits up, knocking away Kenny’s hands in the process, and tugs down the waistband of Kenny’s shorts.

“What?” Kenny asks, but he kicks a leg over Kota’s head so he can keep his ankles together and easily wiggle his shorts away.

“There will be so many stories. I hear there will be some kind of low budget heist in America. Very exciting.”

“What?” Kenny repeats, but it’s a little strangled because Kota just dropped all his weight onto Kenny’s chest. 

“Maybe it will snow?” says Kota. “That would be romantic. After that who knows. We are an Extended Universe.” 

“Snow?” says Kenny stupidly. His hands are back in Kota’s hair, and then they are running down his spine, soft finger tips that prickle and firm palms that Kota pushes up against to feel press into the muscles of his back. Then, as Kota kisses the underside of his jaw, his pulse and the arch of his collar bone, he starts to laugh. 

“Snow, Bu-san? It’s not going to snow in Chicago at the beginning of September.” 

Kota feels that this detail is really of absolute minimum importance, but Kenny is laughing and his stomach shudders and twitches as Kota tries to kiss it. 

Kenny says, “We have to survive the G1 first.” 

Kota doesn’t want to think about that particular episode. It’s of vital importance that Kenny doesn’t think about it either; especially when the blocks aren’t even out yet. No one needs to say anything stupid like, _will I see you in the finals?_

Kota grabs the firm heat of his hipbones, fumbles Kenny’s cock with his left hand and finally sucks the crown into his mouth. He gets Kenny’s hands back in his hair immediately and Kenny stops laughing to gasp. It’s truly gratifying, Kenny growing, coming alive in his mouth. He ghosts his hands over Kenny’s thighs and the flexing muscles in his groin and he moves his mouth leisurely. Delicate, dry skin that he coats with spit. He’s content to listen to Kenny gasp and laugh and murmur praise. Thick between his lips. Soft skin, tight and warm with blood against his tongue

It’s easy and familiar in the build and Kota crushes his own thighs together as Kenny’s muscles start to tense. He spares a hand from Kenny’s hips to palm his own cock. He’s vulnerable in Kota’s mouth as Kota presses harder with tongue and digs his thumb into the base to feel him jump. It's messy, wet. Kota takes him deeper. It's powerful, the chemical kick of possession. The pressure of his hands in Kota’s hair disappear. Kota knows he’s bunched them into fists somewhere. It’s an old, familiar sign. Kota keeps to the rhythm. Tightens his hand. 

“Our next movie,” laughs Kenny, which is new, Kota will admit. Then he twists and comes and calls for Kota, which is gorgeously familiar. The weight on his tongue. The heat in his mouth. He swallows, thinks about Kenny opening his mouth wide in a cold corridor, months ago. His own linens are soft and warm with body heat.

Kota kneels up between Kenny’s legs and fumbles to wipe off his face with Kenny's t-shirt. He strokes himself as Kenny breathes, shivers and runs his fingers around the base of his own cock. Kenny has a hand in his hair and there is a hint of sweat at his clavicle. Kota wants to lick it. Kenny opens his eyes. 

“What do you want?” Kenny asks, and Kota knows his eyes slide straight to Kenny’s bitten lips. 

Kenny’s tackling him backwards onto the bed before Kota can speak. His chest collides with Kota’s chest so that Kota loses air to the force and to his laughter. His arms scoop Kota’s hips up off the bed and he’s suspended for a breathless moment, fingers catching the soft skin of Kenny’s back as he flails. 

Dumped onto his back, he ends up saying, “your mouth,” to the top of Kenny’s head as he shuffles on his knees down Kota’s body. He drops quick panting kisses on the way. Kota’s upside down on the bed, so far down that his head is almost hanging off the mattress.

Kenny cups his aching cock gently in one hand and presses a long, delicate kiss to one side. A prickling tease of stubble. Kota gasps, takes hold of Kenny’s head and presses up, trying to get more pressure as Kenny nudges his nose to the base. At some point Kenny must have learnt to be polite with his hips and it takes more time than Kota is usually willing to spend to make him forget himself. Kota has never bothered to learn the same lessons. Kenny moves easily with him, palm warm and increasingly slick on Kota’s cock and a thumb pressing rhythmically, high into his thigh. Kota finds himself twisting until his head is hanging off the end bed and he lets his hot blood fill his brain. 

Kenny’s mouth is warm and silky, spasming where Kota angles his head by his hair and allows himself to push wonderfully and only occasionally against the hard, smooth roof of Kenny’s mouth and back. It's easy to lose himself in simple movement, in familiar warmth and tickling puffs of air. It's easy to lose himself in Kenny. With all the blood in his head, he's spinning higher and higher. 

He scrambles to get his knees up. To get his feet up. More leverage. The soft insides of Kenny's cheeks are so gentle. Kota tries to be careful with his hands. 

“This is how all our stories should end,” he tells Kenny, from upside down. Kenny chokes on laughter and Kota’s cock, shocking sparks up through Kota’s neck.

Kota gathers himself enough to look up, to let Kenny up and to stroke at his neck apologetically as Kenny wipes at his eyes with his free hand. 

Kota twists again to get his head back on the mattress and watches Kenny's long fingers move the length of him. He nudges at Kenny with his thighs. Kenny coughs again and drops a wet, sucking kiss to the tip of Kota's cock. Kota can't help but pull at him. His heart is juddering in his chest. 

“You’re awful.” says Kenny and then, casually, “I love you.” As though that’s an appropriate thing to say directly for the first time in years with Kota’s cock practically in his mouth. 

Kota meets Kenny's eyes for a fraction of a moment, before Kenny ducks his head. His hand stutters in it’s quick, close rhythm over the length of his cock and Kota’s orgasm unfolds, easily and without build, just as Kenny puts his mouth back on him. For a little while, he's exempt from gravity. Kota drops his head back over the edge of the mattress, gasps and shudders. When he lifts his head again, with the liquid muscles in his neck, he still has Kenny’s hair grasped in his fingers. He’s crushing Kenny’s head into his hip bone and Kenny has his neck quirked awkwardly to stare up at him. Kota manages to pry his fists open.

Kenny pushes down the bed over him and Kota rolls them to grind out pleasant aftershocks against Kenny’s hip. Now Kenny is the one with his neck hanging awkwardly off the bed. Kenny lets his head drop and scrubs at his mouth and chin. Kota kisses the extended tendons of his throat and finally licks a little at the shiny prickle of sweat on his collar bones.

Kenny squirms and pulls him down so he's resting his head on Kenny's chest.

“I didn’t mean to say that you were tainted.” says Kenny, a little hoarse, from upside down and to the opposite wall.

“I know,” says Kota, although he had momentarily managed to forget that, addressing the comment to Kenny’s nipple, still peaked and pink, “but you did.”

“It’s just that I’m always going to be the natural enemy, right? I am trying not to be.” With his ear to Kenny’s chest, Kota can feel the rumble of his voice. It all sounds very grand.

“Dramatic,” tuts Kota. “You're no more out of place than I am.” Kenny sits up, which Kota allows. Kenny rearranges himself, propped against pillows at the head of the bed. He grabs at his phone again on the way up and ends up clutching it slightly defensively in front of himself.

“You could fit in whenever you want to. You were fitting in before. Everyone always loves you,” says Kenny. 

It isn't untrue. People can be exhausting, but he likes them. He likes them to like him. He doesn't ever want to be alone in the way Kenny made himself alone. 

But conventionality is an attitude that steals comfortingly over you while you're not paying attention. There's no thrill in living like that. 

Kenny leans forward into Kota's silence. 

Kenny says, “Drop me and everyone would forget. For you, this is deniable, even now. Another touching embrace with Tanahashi. Sign a contract. Done.”

“Did they tell you to ask me about the contract?” says Kota. And then he stops, cuts a hand through the air; “No, I know you wouldn’t.”

Kenny watches him quietly. 

“I’ve never enjoyed toeing the line,” he says eventually and catches Kenny rolling his eyes at him, “and you know it was never something I wanted.”

“It’s not something you used to want,” Kenny corrects. “You’ve always wanted to please people; find places where you do fit. When people grow up they learn to compromise.”

“Like you have?” Kota grins. 

Kenny kicks at him and Kota snatches his extended ankle out of the air. He strokes a finger up the arch of Kenny’s foot and feels the twitch that Kenny masters. He keeps the pressure firm and doesn’t tickle. 

“It’s easier for me to stand next to you, this time, but I never once felt out of place with you,” Kenny says.

Kota smooths a hand up the sharp bones of Kenny’s shin and feels the tiny, shiny blond hairs rough under his palm.

“I’m sorry it’s different. I’m sorry it’s harder for you now - to be my tag team partner.”

It’s true, but Kenny’s still in his bed. Kota invited him. Kenny needed him, which was as difficult as expected. Kota chose to help him train. Fundamentally, Kota doesn’t want to have to stop. He really hopes they don’t have to stop.

“I’m your teacher too,” says Kota, “your student, your friend, your brother.”

Kenny wrinkles up his nose.

“When we’re in front of a crowd, we still call ourselves the Golden Lovers,” says Kenny carefully. He hasn’t moved his leg from Kota’s hands and he’s still clutching his phone. Kota can see the tense muscle of his arm where it’s pressed across his waist.

Kenny always wanted so many words. Kota already put the belt around his waist. 

“That too,” confirms Kota, nodding, but he can’t translate it. He can’t say _I’m your golden lover,_ in this space. An interior designer picked out this bed frame. It would be absurd and it still wouldn't be enough. 

“I still love you too,” he says instead. Obvious, small and somehow previously unspeakable in its enormity. It’s the first time he’s said it in so many years. His heart is beating so quickly in his chest. 

Kenny throws the words around so easily in English, and now saying it means less and more than it did before. It doesn't encompass what he feels for Kenny, even on their very worst days when the knots in his chest are weighty and aching.

Kota doesn’t really know how long its been anymore, since he gathered Kenny up and carried him into this strange, difficult, happy ending. 

“I love you,” he says again, because it doesn’t feel enough; he was expecting it to cost something. No one is watching now. It doesn't hurt at all. It’s even easier when he looks at Kenny and the wild hair he’s changed again. It’s easier if he looks at the happy lines around his eyes and the pink stain across his turned up nose.

Kota has been wearing his love on a matching t-shirt in front of thousands of people. He puts a hand to his mouth to cover his laugh.

“I love you too,” says Kenny, “thank you, I love you too.” 

Kota already knew that and he doesn’t need words. 

Kenny pulls his foot gently from Kota’s grip and crawls down the bed to kneel in front of Kota.

“I’m just yours. Do you know how much I mean that? Any and all of me. It’s all yours. I’m -”

Kota knocks hims back onto the bed to cut him off. It’s not true, Okada proved that pretty thoroughly. So many people have a claim. Still, he trusts that Kenny means something good by it. The gift of it, spoken aloud in the quiet of his bedroom, is lighter than he thought it would be. It’s something to shore him up, not carry around. He presses the smile he can’t stop into Kenny's neck.

“You're my partner.” Kota says, quietly to Kenny's warm skin. It's a word Kenny can use. It's a boring, tidy word for something vast, but he means it. He means it as a gift for Kenny. 

Kenny wraps him up in his arms and quirks an ankle over Kota’s legs. His hands are careful on Kota's back.

“It’s time to feed the cat.” says Kenny. “Do you want to come with me?” 

 

***

 

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings wise: One hundred percent of the sex is actively depicted as unsafe. Thematically (haHa) it worked. They treat the Cody and Brandi kisses a little flippantly. Being overly careful here: you could get a transactional tone from some of the sex(?) and there is a discussion which equates 'wife' with 'supporting partner' that is loose with gender but not with gender roles. They are not happy all of the time. I tagged for switching as a warning for people who have opinions about that. I confess I did not rewatch Being the Elite before writing this and while I didn't contradict the parts I remembered, I think the Ibushi/Kenny story works really well just in official njpw. This is just improvising around the emotional beats of the story that interested me. Finally, this is obviously not a guide to a safe sex life, but please do make responsible decisions and don’t date anyone who spends money on Supreme. No Beta.
> 
> Cheesy Esposito title because this is cheese and to distract from the gay projection.


End file.
